Let My Love Be Heard
by Rosa Clearwater
Summary: "Is it your first time in Chicago?" Or, how Charles Carson survived a choir competition in the Windy City with his fiancée, twenty-four of their best singers, some chaperones, and Beryl Patmore at her cheekiest. [Sequel to "I Shall Not Sing In Vain"; features a fair amount of the ensemble]
1. First Flights and Unexpected Delights

_**In Response To The Guest Reviews:**_

To Dsky, I'm glad you loved the proposal/scavenger hunt as well as the fact that Charles couldn't wait to propose! And, I am also quite honor to read that you've enjoyed the story/are looking forward to this next part of the adventure!

**General Note:**

Turns out, I couldn't wait till it was all written up. That just means, much like _Ten Other Ways_, it'll have to be weekly updates for now :)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_. And the hotel I have them go to, _The Triple Trees,_ is totally fictional. It does not intentionally resemble any of the hotels in the world.

**Technical Timestamp Note That'll Help With Reading:** Timezones are going to be added to the time stamps to help distinguish the difference in traveling. GMT is Greenwich Mean Time, aka the time it is in London. CST is Central Standard Time, aka the time it is in Chicago.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 10:12am GMT**

A summer of rehearsals, months fundraising to make sure every student could afford this opportunity, weeks of fine-tuning their materials, and now they were at last enter stepping the plane that would allow them to cross the Atlantic Ocean and finally compete within the confines of the Windy City.

It had been an ordeal getting everyone to the plane — some of the students had been clueless when it came to efficiently maneuvering through the airport, a few others were frustrated with their seating arrangements when they got the tickets, and many were already sleep-addled from having to get up so early.

Still, after navigating security, making sure everyone remained together and that the chaperones kept a sharp on the students, they were now stepping onto the familiar blue carpet of the Boeing 737. A sea of navy blue seats awaited the students and their chaperones, the individuals scattering out into the seats purchased with them in mind. Suitcases rolled, complaints and compliments alike were paid, and positions for the flight began to be taken.

Elsie Hughes scanned her ticket again, _39B _kindly looking back at her again, and bit her lip as she watched Daisy Robinson nearly knock someone over in her haste. Thankfully, Septimus Spratt wasn't far behind the young woman and Septimuss was kind enough to give Daisy a helping hand. With that crisis averted, even though others were probably on the way, Elsie decided it might be best not to pay too much attention to the antics of her students just yet. The fact that she could tell so many students were not pleased with their arrangements and would probably be asking to switch seats with other people was tiring enough to convince the woman she could put her energy toward other activities.

Alphabetical order would, no doubt, be a terrible idea to repeat in the future. For, though there wasn't any real drama ensuing at the arrangements, it was turning into a bit of an undignified mess.

_Right. _They were approaching the section she was in, "Well, I'm 39B. Where's your seat?"

Hardly needing to rifle through his meticulous pockets for the ticket, Charles succinctly repeated from memory, "38B." Then, blinking in recognition at the similarity in ticket, "Let me double-check that."

Turns out, they'd only be a row apart from one another the entire flight — a comforting notion for her wariness traveler and a nice distraction for herself. Sitting next to Gladys, a student quite capable of both singing and gossip, had not been an ideal concept.

Still, "Mrs. Hughes, are you sure you don't want to sit next to Mr. Carson instead?"

It looked like Tom Branson, the student who was supposed to take the seat next to Charles, wanted a change in seats. At the very least, he was being considerate. At the very most, he was cleverly avoiding unnecessary bantering between student and teacher.

"Are you sure, Tom?" And glancing at Gladys once the baritone had nodded his consent, "Would you mind if Tom and I switched seats?"

"Hardly," Gladys declared, an almost flirtation air in her eyes. Yes, well, Elsie knew Tom could handle herself and that Gladys would behave herself in public. Therefore, even though she was concerned about the new seating arrangement, there was hardly a need for panic.

"Right then. Let's do it." Moments later, judging from Charles' relief as she slipped past him into Tom's former seat, 38A, they'd made the right decision. Add to that the fact that the seating arrangements were small enough they had to snugly sit next to each other, and she found herself just as delighted with the switch. It allowed them both

And, luckily, the A and B seats were one of the two columns of seats on the plane that only had a pair of seats instead of three. With A and B as a pair, that left the seats for C, D, and E as a set of three, with seats F and G as another pair.

In short, they don't have to be overly cautious of a third person observing them. Which meant that the engaged couple could comfortably link arms and even hold one another's hand if they liked. Which, as the engine roared to life and various noises emitted from the aircraft, Charles needed to do.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 10:27am GMT**

"It's your first time, isn't it?" Septimus had noticed Daisy's apprehension the moment she'd accidentally smacked him with her luggage - the young woman having underestimated putting her carry-on bag into the overhead binns.

She shyly nodded, having been hesitant to confess that to anyone. But seeing as how they were the only pair in their seating section, she being in 41A and he in 41B, it looked like no one else would catch her confession.

"It's alright," The sight of her curling in on herself reminded him a bit of his little sister, Sophia Spratt. So, he found himself a bit kinder in his mannerisms than normal. "I know plenty of people our age who haven't flown before either."

"You do?" He nodded at this, glancing over at the window.

"And, I've done it enough I'll be able to tell you what everything means."

"Really?"

Septimus smiled, emanating a bit of that knowing air his alter-ego might've given.

"Of course." Glancing back at his phone, the young man pondered the idea of talking about flying in his writings. He'd have to wait months after the competition so that people wouldn't have more clues as to his identity, but if it helped he was more than happy to dabble in giving some advice for that.

The plane began to rumble down the flight path, the safety demonstration having already been performed. It'd still take them another minute or two to start to ascend, but that didn't mean he couldn't give Daisy some preparation. The bass personally adored the feeling of taking off, the sensation of rapidly shifting through the clouds and taking to the sky one of the best feelings in the world for him. There was a style to this technology, a classiness he enjoyed as much as his column in the newspaper.

"Now, when we take-off, one of the best things you can do for yourself is to practice one of our class's breathing techniques."

"Can I close the window? Will that help?" He resisted the urge to frown at the suggestion, thinking that the window was an excellent source of enjoyment during a flight. But, this was Daisy's first-time.

"If you think it'll help." The young soprano nodded, glancing over to the window and mentally cursing the fact that she had the window seat.

"Maybe later." His mouth quirked in amusement at this, but he was hardly going to fight her on the matter. And, soon enough, they were beginning to pick up in speed.

Still rolling over the flight path, the plane gradually came to a stop. They waited a beat, Septimus drinking in the silence in satisfaction as he began to quietly count down how long it'd take the plane to approximately take off.

"This is it, isn't it?" He nodded, noticing her worry grow.

"Just remember to breathe. And," Once more reminded of Amanda, "Take it one step at a time."

It was his sister's mantra, one that looked to be helping Daisy as the plane suddenly jolted to life. The sound of the engines rumbling began, a delightful symphony of technical engineering filling the cabin of the craft. He couldn't help the grin that came over him as their speed immediately picked up. Faster and faster they climbed through the smooth roads of Heathrow, and soon they were finally lifting.

He excitedly breathed in the rush of exhilaration that tilted the aircraft toward the clouds, the sensation of floating filling the young man with an adrenaline rush he lived for. It was as invigorating as a successful piece, as empowering as grandly reaching the lowest of his range after years of rehearsal.

And, judging from Daisy's squeal of delight as the plane continued to soar upward toward the heavens, she understood.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 2:36pm GMT**

It had taken Charles about half the flight to make the inquiry that had been on his mind ever since he realized they'd be traveling to Chicago, the man hesitant about voicing his question. But Elsie looked as relaxed as ever, having ended up leaning her head on his shoulder, and he figured now was as good a time as any.

"I don't suppose we'll be forced into eating deep dish pizza?" The choir director asked quietly, having not been looking forward to that part of the adventure.

"I'm sorry?" His fiancée had been drifting into a nap, having been content enough to sleep on the plane by his side.

"It's just," He began, unintentionally louder this time,"I heard deep dish pizza is a specialty of Chicago." _And it hardly sounds appealing._

"Is it your first time in Chicago?" The blonde diagonal to them, sitting in _37C_, asked curiously. "Because, if it is, you _have _to try Lou Malnati's."

"Lou Malnati's?" He questioned without a second thought, as Elsie had started to speak up. The conversation had been enough to wake up his fiancée, apparently.

"Lou Malnati's is my favourite of the deep dishes," The choir teacher confessed, suddenly finding the woman's attention purely on her. "I've had it when I can in Chicago."

"It really is yummy, isn't it?" Charles' furrowed his eyebrows, not having felt that much impressed by the concept of deep dish as a whole or her word-choice. And though he opened his mouth to interject, the blonde was already continuing, "And if your husband's never been, he's gotta get the full tourist experience."

"Husband?"

Cocking an eyebrow at them, ignoring the snickers and snorts from the few eavesdropping students nearby, the blonde carefully asked, "I take it you're not married?"

Blushing, "We're engaged to be married, actually."

"Oh, congratulations!" Pausing, before shifting the conversation back to the real priority, "Now, you've been before but did you want anymore recommendations?"

"_Any more recommendations"? Is she being serious?_

"That would be wonderful, thank you!" Perking up and lifting her head from his shoulder, Elsie began to listen attentively to the blonde woman — much to Charles' frustration. _It's not as though we're going to have much time to do the "full tourist experience", _the man couldn't help but think.

"Well, now that you mention it," The stranger in _37C _started up, causing Charles to believe they were in for _quite _the speech on the wonders of Chicago.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 7:19pm GMT (1:19pm CST)**

After several hours of soaring through the sky, Rose found herself quite thrilled to finally take in the sight of the Chicago shoreline. This had been the part she'd been most looking forward to, taking great delight in looking at the intoxicating beams of the sun reflect off the gorgeous skyscrapers and into the watery depths of Lake Michigan.

"Thank you, Mr. Mason, for opening your window!" The chaperone and her seat companion for today's flight had been attempting to nap throughout the entirety of the flight. But, now that they were only twenty minutes or so from landing at O'Hare, he'd acquiesced to her request for the window to be open. "Isn't it divine?"

"I suppose so," Albert Mason wasn't the biggest fan of buildings taller than they'd need to be, or cities for that matter. But, taking a glimpse in the direction Beryl was seated — an area that was a little ways behind him — he found himself willing to traipse through the concrete forests and cement jungles for her.

"I hear that the Willis Tower is one of the tallest buildings in America, and _definitely _taller than the Shard!"

"Really?" Though he hardly cared about skyscrapers, he found himself perfectly willing to converse with Miss MacClare. The young woman, after all, was entranced with the skyline below them and seemed to be coming to life the further they swooped over the city. All in all, it was a pleasant change from the exhausted soprano who'd flopped into _39F _only a few hours ago.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 1:34pm CST (7:34pm GMT)**

Landing at O'Hare, dragging her jet-lagged students out of Terminal 5 and back toward the main parts of O'Hare airport would have been far more of an ordeal had Elsie Hughes not been accompanied by her fellow chaperones.

Cora Crawley — having volunteered long before to be a part of this week's journey — did a fantastic job in cheerily rounding up the students. Isobel Crawley — having also been insistent on helping with this competition — maintained an eye on everyone and kept the fellow students in line without being unfair about the matter. Albert Mason was a soothing addition to the trip, making sure that no one lost their heads, while Beryl Patmore remained fantastic at getting the grouchier, more unreasonable students to cooperate. And Charles Carson?

Just by looking at Charles Carson had Elsie far calmer than she could have ever imagined.

Still, effective chaperones they may be, none of them could have planned for the reactions to taking public transportation.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 1:42pm CST (7:42pm GMT)**

"What do you mean, we're taking the train?" Mary Crawley did not take trains, not the kind that took her through cities. She took cabs, had her sister Edith drive her somewhere, never encountering these ghastly contraptions that looked like metal death traps.

"Mary," Mrs. Hughes had started to retort, but Mr. Carson had beaten her to the punch.

"Taking the train was the most cost-efficient way to get into the city. Renting six cars for a week is hardly conducive, and it should only be an hour or so on the train."

"'An hour or so'?" The young soprano haughtily quoted, not spluttering but quite close to it. That's when Matthew snuck his way into the conversation; understanding that his teachers didn't have their normal patience due to jet-lag, he knew his friend would get sternly lectured if she didn't go with today's flow.

"Mary, it'll be a great adventure," He gestured to the machines designated to hand out Chicago's equivalent of London's Oyster cards. It had been decided that, instead of getting a seven-day pass not everyone would use, each student would receive what was called a Ventra card. "C'mon, let's go get a card."

"No," She snapped, not in the mood. "I'd rather take a taxi, thank you."

"Unless one of the chaperones is willing to accompany you, you will be taking the train." Mrs. Hughes was blunter than normal; undoubtedly taxed by the flight.

"I'm sure Mama would be willing to accompany—"

"I'm sorry, Mary, but I do love the train." Cora Crawley confessed, crossing her arms. "I don't think it suits the spirit of the adventure to take a taxi right now."

Scowling more blatantly than normal, the young soprano primly rolled her suitcase toward the Ventra machines. "When the train derails or some such nonsense—"

"Mary! Don't say things like!"

"— Don't blame me."

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 2:06pm CST (8:06pm GMT)**

Contrary to Mary's belief, the train ride had been smooth sailing and quite enjoyable. They had managed to snag a compartment mostly to themselves close to the front of the train, and the sensation of swooshing through the tracks had perked up many bleary-eyed students. And when the train had dove into underground, swiftly rattling through the path of the subway, before majestically rising up to display a gorgeous view of the city, almost everyone was enamoured.

Now, whether that was due to the beauty of the city or the fact that they wouldn't be underground anymore depended solely on the person.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 2:43pm CST (8:43pm GMT)**

"Isn't it fantastic?"

Having been able to snag a hotel almost in the center of the downtown area, everyone was in sufficient awe as they proceeded to make their way to their hotel, _The Triple Trees_.

"Yup." Beryl had thoroughly enjoyed watching her oldest friend grow livelier the longer they stayed in the city. Even with the burden of chaperoning and keeping an eye on twenty-five teenagers, Elsie looked immensely pleased to be here. "But, we're a bit early, aren't we?"

"We are. The rooms won't be available for at least another hour" The choir teacher conceded. "Though, luckily, everyone can drop off their bags so it won't be as bad."

Beryl nodded at this, calculating. "And, since we need to adjust to Chicago's time-zone, I take it we get to distract the kids for at least another six hours?"

"That'd be correct." Tiredly smiling at the task before them, entertaining twenty-five exhausted students for an additional six hours was no easy feat, Beryl cracked her knuckles and shot her friend a knowing look.

"Next time, it's going to be an actual vacation."

"I'm holding you to that."

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 3:51pm CST (9:51pm GMT)**

Even though it'd only been an hour between Beryl and Elsie's conversation about distracting their charges, it had felt like twelve. Consequently, when the choir teacher looked to be overwhelmed by the challenge - having not had the pleasure of competing with teenagers in this capacity ever before - Beryl offered to snatch the hotel keys and distribute them.

And, because she'd had experienced many a slip-up in hotels before - taking fifty of her band kids to out-of-town competitions usually involved some mishap with booking - she also planned on checking the official booking. Having refrained from saying something to Elsie, the choir teacher didn't need more stress from overthinking this part of the trip, Beryl had taken it upon herself to double-check.

And, boy, was she glad she did.

"Run that by me again?"

The employee behind the main lobby's desk, a mature looking woman, nodded at the request before reciting the official rooms booked before adding, "Would you like the reservation printed for reference, ma'am?"

"No, thank you." Scooping up the hotel keys, "And, thank you for checking."

The employee smiled once again, "And is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"No, I'm good."

"In that case, I hope you enjoy your stay at _The Triple Trees_, ma'am."

"I'm sure I will!" Beryl then started to head back to the other side of the main floor, the part where her charges and fellow chaperones were wearily waiting.

Only years of training had her able to keep a straight face, instead of gleefully smirking. Technically, there had been a mishap in reservation but it had only been the one. Furthermore, it was a mishap that hardly ruined the week.

Quite the reverse, if she were being honest.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 9:47pm CST (3:47pm GMT)**

"Well," As the elevator politely dinged, alerting the couple to the fact that they were now on their floor, "That was quite a day."

Elsie looked at her fiancé with a strained smile in her eyes as she wearily agreed, "It was indeed. But, now we get to call it a night."

He nodded with his own small smile, relieved that they finally made it to a break. Having ensured with all the students that their sleeping arrangements were taken care of — i.e., making sure everyone was in a group — and being told by Beryl that the chaperones were taken of, the pair could at last call it a night.

After a day of what felt like outrageous shenanigans — they'd nearly lost Alfred at Clark and Lake, Megan Abbott had gotten into a fight with a stranger over her "queer" accent, Joseph Moseley had been seconds from fainting at the crowds that swarmed Daley Plaza - they were quite ready to collapse and fall deeply into a magnificent sleep.

And, seeing as how they had planned to share a room together, a room ensured to have two queen beds if only for the sake of everyone else, he was rather looking forward to it. Having been told by every other chaperone months ago that their sharing a hotel room together in Chicago was perfectly alright, the couple felt comfortable doing this. Besides, even if there had been only one bed in the room, he felt they could be trusted to do nothing more than sleep together in the literal sense of the word.

"Yes," Charles repeated the sentiment of his fiancée, at a level of exhaustion and jet-lagged that he couldn't help reiterating her words. And the further they approached their room — the blessed _Room 215_ coming closer and closer into sight — the more worn down he felt. Or, rather, the more there was an overwhelming sense of relief that he was finally at their door and at last getting a chance to haphazardly fish for his key. "And might I say that it's about time?"

Elsie arched an eyebrow at his graceless actions, knowing that he was never so weary he couldn't manage keys. However, as they ambled into the room and the light flicked on, she found herself stumbling over the threshold and tripping into him at the sight that awaited them.

Let's just say it had not been what she had expected.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 9:50pm CST (3:50am GMT)**

"Good evening, ma'am," Leon Brown, tonight's concierge, kindly spoke even as his hesitance grew. The older woman before him exuded a flustered air, one that he didn't feel fully equipped to handle seeing as how it was only his second week on the job. "How may I be of assistance today?"

"Hello," The British accent — Irish, maybe? He never really paid attention before — woke Leon right up and snapped him to attention. But, the woman hardly reacted or even noticed, that's how tired she seemed to be. "I believe there was a mix-up in my room arrangement."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What's last name and room number?"

She proceeded to list the number, 215, and explain that it makes perfect sense if they were given the wrong room because there were additional bookings made. Well, that was a nice sentiment and all, but Leon had proof otherwise.

"Well, ma'am, this is the original room for the reservation." Scanning the original purchase and glancing at her ring, "Did your husband make the reservation instead?"

Had Leon been in the hotel industry for more than two weeks, he might have realized that the customer's husband did not purchase the room. However, as Leon had only been a part of the industry for approximately two weeks, this was not to be the case.

"No, I made the booking," She spoke, her tone profusely warm and reassuring although her eyes seemed to be staring coldly at his computer. "Is it not supposed to be a room with two doubles?"

He looked over the computer's information once again, hesitantly uttering a, "Well," before trailing off into silence. Glancing up a little too late, Leon didn't catch the woman schooling her features into neutrality for his sake. He didn't see the twitch in her stare as she reigned irritation into faint exasperation. No, all Leon saw was a customer who looked a little tired but seemed gracious enough. Unfortunately, he also saw someone who would not be getting what they apparently requested.

"Well, ma'am, I'm afraid the reservation was made for a room with a king bed."

"I see." The Irish woman — for this is what Leon figured she was — looked down for a moment before meeting his curiosity again, a smile fixed upon her face. "And is it possible to switch rooms?"

He internally cringed, hating the position he was in. Because, the answer was already on his screen and it undoubtedly wasn't the one she wanted.

"If you wanted to switch, I'm afraid there'll be an additional charge." She started to think it over, but his nerves dictated that he hastily add an apologetic, "Ma'am, with the charge as it is, I'd just stick to the room you have."

"What's the charge?" The customer quietly asked, her accent a little stronger now.

_Heh… Why did I do this to myself? _"It'll be about 200 dollars a night. And, you won't be able to receive a refund on the original room, I'm afraid." Looking at her reservation, that'd be a total of $1,600. And while it didn't seem impossible for her to have the cash or want to pay the additional charge, he personally thought it'd be easier to stick with her original reservation.

"My, my." Leon stiffened at the two words, suddenly reminded of his mother when she was deeply unimpressed with something. He didn't like the sound of that in the slightest, knowing it wasn't a good omen.

"Ma'am?"

As though she were remembering she was in front of an audience, the customer's eyes shot back to meet his, having been glaring at his computer.

"Well then," She began, looking to be searching for the right words. "We'll make the reservation work. Thank you for your time."

"I am truly sorry, ma'am. If you'd like, I can ask to see—"

"No, no." Squaring her shoulders, "It'll be alright. Thank you, Leon."

And with that, the supposedly Irish woman turned on her heel and went back the way she came.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 10:01pm CST (4:01am GMT)**

Elsie Hughes had been shocked by the room set-up, if only because she knew this was a relationship that required baby steps. She personally looked forward to one day sharing a bed with Charles, she just also suspected that doing so this early on in the relationship would probably be a bad idea.

Oh, who was she fooling? If this slip-up hadn't occurred, they wouldn't have shared a bed for many more months than necessary. And, knowing Charles, sharing a bed would be the only thing that would come out of the next seven nights. So, the more she processed what the concierge had told her, the more at ease she felt.

Still, that didn't mean she wasn't just a tad concerned.

_._

**Monday, the 5th of August, 2019 - 10:04pm CST (4:04am GMT)**

"Right," If anyone had asked him how he was feeling about the hotel slip-up, he'd honestly be clueless. It now felt a rather scandalous set-up, even with their engagement; yet, Elsie's news hadn't been as earth-shattering as the woman probably anticipated. Far from it, in fact. "And there's nothing we can do to change it?"

"None," His fiancée promptly spoke, worrying her lower lip as she waited for his response. "The charge is not worth it, and we wouldn't receive a refund on this room either way."

"Right." Charles repeated the word, still standing in the doorway of the room. The king-sized bed loomed in the middle of the space, coyly beckoning them closer. They still needed to change into pyjamas, of course, as well as do their individual night routines. And they probably needed to talk this through more, this unexpected arrangement.

"I do hope it's not too much too soon," She tiredly offered, looking too worn out to articulate her thoughts but still carrying trepidation in her shoulders.

"'Too much too soon'?" The man echoed, clearly as spent with his energy. "Elsie, sharing this room with you was already a highlight of the trip. And, now we have a perfectly legitimate reason to share a _bed_?"

It had taken her an extra second or two to fully hear what he said. And when the words did register, she found herself needing another second to recover from the beautiful and somewhat overwhelming sentiment

Speechless, Elsie settled for embracing him — the trepidation starting to escape. He tightened his hold on her, needing the support more than he realized, and surprisingly was the one who initiated their first kiss of the evening. And though the bed floated back into their minds once again, they were just too tired for anything more than heartfelt kisses.

"So, I'll get changed in the bathroom first?" Charles nodded at her question, suddenly struck with the image of her changing into nightclothes only a short distance away. The image helped to keep him awake as she slipped away from the embrace and slowly opened up her suitcase to take out the pyjamas.

In only a matter of minutes, the door opened again — the man hadn't risked sitting on the bed, choosing to lean against the wall instead. She quietly traipsed into the bedroom, the inelegance of her step a testament to her energy-level. And even though his fiancée was clothed in modest pyjamas she'd repeatedly warned weren't going to do much for her, he still found his breath quite caught by them.

Seeing her in a soft three-quarter top with equally soft pyjama bottoms, the material thin enough to tastefully accentuate her body, almost had him abandon the original plan of changing. In fact, at the sight of her looking like that, he wanted to venture down an entirely different plan. Clearly, the man had forgotten why they were in a hotel room in the first place — that's how distracted and exhausted he was.

The problem with this type of exhaustion was, even though his mind was sluggishly racing with amorous thoughts, his body had no capability of anything other than the necessary tasks. And the necessary tasks tonight meant mechanically switching into his own pyjamas and somehow winding up in bed.

"Charles?" She questioned, stirring her fiancé from his thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Almost shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the man in question pushed himself off the wall for the Herculean task of moving into the bathroom. "Quite alright, Elsie." And nodding to her as though this situation were an everyday occurrence, he grabbed his pyjamas and trudged into the bathroom to prepare for sleep.

When Charles had re-emerged from the bathroom minutes later with a cautious air — softly calling out her name when he didn't immediately see her — it took him a few seconds to realize that she had waited for him on the bed.

Or, rather, his woman was endearingly passed out on the bed, having not quite made under the covers. _His woman_, the words had danced around his mind but he was too far gone to fully appreciate them. Instead, he could only appreciate the fact that they could go to bed together in the same bed.

Yet, there was just one tiny snag he knew would be a problem. An understandable problem, but a problem nevertheless.

"Oh, Elsie," A normal flight lasting several hours was taxing in itself. Having to continue the adventure by taking care of and entertaining twenty-five teenagers for a total of eight hours meant that his fiancée was past the point of exhaustion. He was, too, and would probably look just like that in a minute. But she'd gotten a head start and definitely seemed to be more worn out from the ordeal.

So, it was with a strength he thought impossible today that Charles gently scooped Elsie and lifted her off the bed. The action was as invigorating as it was draining, making his heart soar even as he ploddingly readjusted the blankets and sheets on her side. The final problem of tonight was making sure she got a proper night's rest instead of a decent one. Still, the feeling of her in his arms like this had the man cherish the fact that they were engaged to be married. The only time anything remotely like this happened was when they were sick together back in the spring semester and, well, that hardly counted in his opinion.

As Charles was starting to set his fiancée back down, she snuggled further into his arms, still out cold. And he would swear for years to come that she even murmured his name in a sleep-riddled _legato_ quality, curling up a bit as though she knew what he was doing and adoring it all.

And it was only that, and not the fact that he'd accidentally tripped over his feet, that had them both tumbling onto the bed. But it truly spoke volumes that Elsie hadn't even budged from her sleep at the movement, only mumbling something incredibly unintelligible before inching closer to him. He himself could only chuckle quietly, hysterically almost, the stress of the day finally giving way to the relief that came with laying still at last.

"Well, if you insist." This was a playful mumble of his, with half the words losing themselves to the fuzziness that came with this type of exhaustion. Somehow managing to follow suit and getting under the covers, Charles drowsily moved toward her - hardly making it more than a centimeter before his own body gave out and sleep finally, rightfully, claimed him.

_._

_**A/N: **_As you may have already guessed, this is going to be a step up in the romance department compared to the previous two stories. _However_, we're not going higher than T, people! Not only would I fail abysmally at writing M-material, trust me on that front, this is a story that's meant to focus on an international choir competition as well as lovely Chelsie-ness.

And, finally, like I said before, expect a weekly update this time! So, sometime on the 29th of August the second chapter should be posted. In any case, have a lovely day! :)


	2. Windy Walks and Sotto Talks

**In Response To Guest Reviewers:**

So, I'm pretty sure that the latest guest reviews from ISNSIV were from the same person. Therefore, _to the guest who quite possibly reviewed both **Chapters 33, 34 **and** 36 of ISNSIV, **_your reviews made my morning! In fact, I've reread them a few times today, that's how delightful they were. I cannot describe how honored I am that you loved those Chelsie scenes in Chapter 33 and that you listened to as many of the songs as you could. Moreover, I love how much you enjoyed Mrs. Butte getting justice served! And, I'll reassure you now by saying that we _never _see her again. And, yes, I couldn't let the story finish without adding in that proposal. And, yeah, I am a sucker for sentimentality - so, of course, it had to be in courtyard :) Furthermore, I'll confess that your remarks about Jimmy and Edith inspired me to include more of my reasoning as to why it happened the way it did! So, when we get to that part of this chapter, please know that was all thanks to you :)

**About the Timestamps: **Totally forgot that the timestamps would technically be listed as GMT+1 (Greenwich Mean Time +1 hour) and CDT (Central Daylight Time). Nevertheless, since adding that might be cause for distraction with the story, I'm going to keep it as GMT and CST, respectively.

**Author's Note: **Who's ready for the adventure to begin? We won't be getting to the singing just yet, but we definitely will have some Chelsie moments and fun times with the students!

**Second Author's Note **(08/29/19)**: **So, I just found out that another very wonderful musician and teacher that I respected passed away yesterday. While I didn't interact with him nearly as much as my friends did, I will be writing a little tribute for him in this story because he's been a part of my inspiration. Also, because of that and a few other things going on, although this chapter has been looked over and edited, it's definitely not perfect. Therefore, please forgive any mistakes/repetitive writing you see.

**Disclaimer: **All places mentioned (except for the hotel, that is) are real but I don't own them. I've walked past many of them several times in my life, but definitely don't own them. That also goes for _Downton Abbey_, of course.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 6:36am (CST) [12:36pm GMT] **

When the couple woke hours before they had to, what had been a respectable distance had slowly worked itself into a loving embrace throughout the night. Unwittingly cuddling closer and closer in sleep, arms woke interwoven while legs wound up happily intwined. Mussy auburn locks spilled out onto the pillows and brushed up against strands of salt-and-pepper as hands rested wherever they liked, the atmosphere calming and pleasant. The moment felt as dulcet as a G-Major chord, serenely uplifting in its nature. And with the rays of the sun barely peeking into the room, the pair knew that it'd be a little bit longer before they'd be required to do anything. Nevertheless, maintaining at least some form of decorum by keeping his hands only on her back and waist, the man started to move out of bed in an effort to begin the day. This may be their only proper day off for the week, but that didn't mean he wanted to spend it in bed all day. Or, rather, Charles — fiancé to one Elsie Hughes — would have been all for that. Mr. Carson — the choir director of Downton Academy — felt he'd be remiss in his choral duties by doing so.

"Charles," The foggy lilt stopped every thought of his in its tracks, his gaze coming back to endearingly half-opened blue eyes. "Surely we can wait at least a few more minutes?"

Elsie hardly needed to ask when she looked so enchanting, her man already slipping back into the depths of the bed without a second thought. Unfortunately, even though they both wanted more of this satisfying moment, a sense of urgency was continuing instilling itself into the room. Thus, he wasn't coming back to bed to stay. In fact, in an effort to make sure she was fully awake and roused into action, Charles moved closer to Elsie — planning on waking his love up with a sweet kiss designed to invigorate the woman.

There was only problem the man couldn't have foreseen with this plan:

At the sensation of his lips melding with hers, her heart soared with energy as her eyes remained blissfully shut. In turn, his own eyes breathed in the sight before him as though it were all a dream before deciding to close themselves and let the dream carry on, uninterrupted. Add to the fact that her hands were now reaching out to tangle themselves in his hair, his responding in kind, and they found themselves blissfully unaware of the world. An entrancing embrace began in seconds, one that was as soft as _pianissimo _with the delicate fervor of a _glissando _as they drank in the feeling that came with this intimacy.

They continued to cherish the fact being here in this moment felt much like conducting did: perfectly right for them. And while a sense of decorum did linger in the background, there was also a feverish desire to make up for holding back all these months. There was a clear yearning to remain embraced like this for as long as possible, to happily entangle themselves in this _ritardando _of satisfaction. In this moment, they weren't two staff members charged with any sort of responsibility. They were only two people clinging on to a personal responsibility, the responsibility being to their own wants and desires.

It could have gone further, _should _have gone further, except for one thing.

Even in the States, it looked like Beryl Patmore's phone-calls would always interrupt the pair at their most heated moments.

Grumbling ensued from Elsie and not Charles for once as the woman tiredly rolled over to pick up her phone and answer the call. And it was with a sense of frustration, with no fondness for the interruption, that her husk-ridden voice sharply shot out.

"You better have a good reason for calling, Beryl," It was nearly a growl, definitely a warning, although its threatening tone hardly worked this time. That would be because Elsie's unintentional breathiness added a layer of curiosity for the caller, enough intrigue to ignore the impending doom at disturbing the choir teacher in the first place. And with such breathiness came, after a moment or two of contemplation, the subtle knowledge that this phone call had not probably disturbed the woman's sleep.

"_Oh, did I interrupt something?" _Charles could hear the overt cheekiness even from where he lay, the playfully brash nature putting a stop to all enticing thoughts that had frolicked through his mind. The same realization seemed to strike Elsie, her demeanour falling into something far more restrained even as she remained sprawled out across the bed. "_I only wanted to let you know that some of the group's already awake and getting breakfast. No one will leave the hotel until we know what today's plans are, but students are already getting up and at least one of you probably should be here soon."_

"Thank you, Beryl. We'll be down in a little bit." Hanging up, she turned back to him, frustration coming back into her look.

"I suppose we ought to refrain from these types of mornings," Elsie didn't really want to, even though she was the one to voice the suggestion. But so long as they were in a hotel with their friends — and their _students_, now that she gave the matter some proper thought — it felt inappropriately reckless to indulge in this sort of romance. "Not if we want to set an example."

Silence. An awkward _fermata_, one that clung to a draining propriety and disappointing decorum as they thought the whole thing over. None of this would have been a problem for them a year ago. In fact, neither of them would have even thought this situation would be possible for them. But, that was life: something that could entirely and wonderfully unpredictable at times. Furthermore, life didn't stop or slow down just because they wanted it to. So, after a minute or so of further contemplation, the woman made a dreaded suggestion that had both their hearts sink more than just a little:

"We might want to consider that room switch."

Time stuttered apologetically as the pair looked at one another in frustration, questioning the situation for what it was. Yet again there was another internal debate of principle — setting an appropriate example for students — versus preference — wanting to enjoy their life together in every possible way. And, this time, instead of quietly coming to mind, this debate fiercely sprung to life within them. This was not the first time they'd been forced to think through this conundrum, nor would it be the last, that was for sure.

Nevertheless, just as quickly as time had stopped, the right answer was already providing itself to the choir director.

"Elsie," He was being the impulsive one for once, going with his gut without a moment's hesitation. For, having now gotten a taste of what a full life with Elsie Hughes could look like, waking up in bed by her side and getting an idea of their future together, Charles couldn't go back to what had been. "While I agree we should refrain from anything too — for lack of a better word — explicit, I don't think we can go back to before."

The man paused, not quite able to meet her eyes as he confessed,

"Nor do I want to."

Before last night, Charles could've gone quite a long time without needing to lay beside her. Having never had a memory of the experience, those two nights on the couch not being quite the same as this bed, there had been nothing but flimsy imagination for what it could be. Now he had a sensation to cling to, an image to conjure up and treasure. Now he would not even want to dream of spending a night without her. And now, in this moment, he also knew that separation would be far more detrimental to their happiness — and, in turn, their choral craft. Therefore, to let old habits of decorum and propriety to split them up now would only distract them and, consequently, damage their choir.

The man did internally suspect he was being a bit selfish with his thoughts. That, if he wanted to be a truly great choir director, he'd go out of his way to ensure they didn't get distracted with their relationship. Not only that, he'd make sure to provide an example of perfect decorum to his students, being vigilant when it came to the standard he set for them.

But, after all these years of remaining faithful to his choirs, surely he was allowed this week with his future wife?

Elsie softly sighed as he spoke, a faint smile peering out through her eyes at his words. Her idea had been a suggestion that offered them a way out from the inevitable reactions — the incredulous "You're _sharing a bed_?", the judgemental stares and sardonic remarks about not only their being engaged but also their teaching together. It had been a way out for them, a way to ensure neither of their reputations suffered tremendously over the course of this next week and beyond. Still, whether they shared a bed now or a year from now, those reactions would linger in the background.

_Though, does it really matter? _

Maybe had she been a budding soprano who needed to maintain a good image to obtain work. Or, perhaps, had the Crawleys been unwilling to keep them both at Downton with their impending marriage. But she was past those budding days by a couple of decades now. And, the Crawleys had been incredibly enthusiastic in their support of the engagement. Furthermore, Elsie was tired of conforming to the expectations of others for something that hardly mattered. If there had been a rule in her contract outright saying that she was not allowed to be with Charles, that'd be different. But there were no rules about this, only outdated beliefs and traditional expectations.

And that really wasn't a good enough reason to stop this wonderful thing from developing into something even grander.

"Alright," She easily agreed, a sense of relief releasing her lips from her teeth's firm grasp. In seconds, she noticed a similar sensation beginning to overtake him, his eyebrows unfurrowing with an unexpected ease. "No room change." Charles breathed a sigh of gratitude at this, oblivious to how adorable the action was. "But, I suggest that we refrain from any… explicit activities until we're back in the Yorkshire county."

A year ago, she would not have ever imagined having such a conversation, especially not with the choir director of Downton Academy. But, that was one of the things that had her realize how much life could be "just life". How alterations could occur, whether or not one was ready for them. And, also, how the changes that could happen could be innumerably wonderful.

"Deal."

Chuckling at his vernacular, noting that it came from someone who interacted with the world as properly as he could, Elsie rolled out of bed and began to make her way to the bathroom. If she was going to appear impervious to Beryl's inevitable smirks and knowing winks, she needed to get ready sooner rather than later.

Though, there was still a hitch with all of this. Seeing as how she could feel Charles' gaze on her as she left the bed — even though her pyjamas were hardly alluring in her opinion — it became clear that this deal of theirs was going to be difficult to keep. Worse still was the growing feeling encouraging her to fall back into bed, let the cloud-like blankets soothe her worries, and continue this divine exploration together than go downstairs and face everyone.

Oh, yes, something told her this was going to be a long week.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - ****7:01am ****CST (1:01pm GMT)**

"Now, I don't suppose you all have ideas of what you want to do today? It is our last free day before the competition and the workshops." Beryl asked the lot before her, noticing how a third of the students were already up and it was hardly eight o'clock. Feeling a bit groggy herself, the woman figured this was as good a time to make inquiries and get a bead on the situation.

Too late it struck her that she was opening a can of worms.

"Well, I heard that there's a _huge _shopping mall near something called the Magnificent Mile!" Rose's eggs vibrated from the gusto she gave that suggestion, her once-bleary eyes now wide awake.

"There's also something called 'the Bean' that I heard was really cool to see." Matthew interjected before Rose could get too ahead of herself.

"Who'd want to see something named after a bean?" Sarah cracked over her bacon, disinterested in anything other than her breakfast.

"I would," Thomas retorted, "I've heard the Bean is nice," Though it was obvious that he cared less about going to see the landmark and more about irritating his classmate.

"And it's supposed to be near something called Millennium Park," Charlotte Williams chimed in helpfully, her smile widening the more Sarah scowled. "Which I've heard is a must to check out."

"Alright, well there's only so many chaperones, so we've got to be selective about what we do." Beryl tried to reign back in their focus to no avail; the present students were now wide awake and already planning out the next few hours.

"Apparently everything's in walking distance from the hotel," Rose continued to chatter, "And it's not as though we don't have enough chaperones to see _everything_!"

"And what exactly is 'everything'?"

Stilling at the sound of Mrs. Hughes' voice — one that was far too calm — all the students and chaperones present came to a stop.

Well, everyone except for Rose, that is.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 9:49am ****CST (3:49pm GMT)**

"Oh, it's beautiful," Evelyn Portillo remarked quietly, the elegant rays of the sun causing the landmark to glisten in the light. The Bean, also known as "Cloud Gate", admirably gleamed before them. And, as Sarah had predicted over breakfast, it truly looked like an enormous silver bean with about forty feet to its height. Yet, there was a charm to its simplicity, and the further they approached the structure the more she could detect intricacies.

The closer she walked up to the piece, even managing to stand directly underneath the Bean amongst a swarm of people, the more Evelyn enjoyed the piece. With every glance, the underbelly of the art piece reflected the people standing there. Almost like thousands of curved mirrors reflecting themselves, creating illusions that bounced back and forth effortlessly, she found her mesmerized by the landmark. It was like a melodic ripple in sheet music, producing an entrancing feeling that had the participant more connected to the experience than they had imagined.

"Make sure not to wander!" Beryl good-naturedly warned them all, though she was taken with the landmark herself. Set in its own little corner of Millennium Park, the silver art piece had caught her eye the moment she saw it through the surrounding greenery. Albert approached her, keeping all the remaining students in sight as they stepped up to the creation.

"Certainly nothing like what we've got back home," At least in the Yorkshire county. Albert was fairly certain something as artistic and unique as the Bean existed in London somewhere.

"You're telling me," The woman responded, eyes still widened in amazement as she continued to take it all in. The silvery reflections, the thousands of images that changed to whatever the crowd of onlookers did, it was so very fascinating. She could've spent at least a good half-hour walking around and committing it all to memory, that's how entranced she felt.

"Mrs. Patmore," Turns out she only had a few minutes to enjoy the piece. Isobel Crawley was approaching with the look of someone who wanted to start up another adventure. An adventure, for that matter, that would undoubtedly require close supervision."Mrs. Patmore, some of the students and I are going to explore something nearby called the Maggie Daley park. I wanted to let you know before we left in case you and Mr. Mason wanted to come along."

After living in the Yorkshire county for God only knows how long, the band director had had her fill of parks. And though Maggie Daley was actually nothing like the scene she was currently imagining, she still felt firm enough in her opinion to resolutely decline.

"Suit yourself," Isobel acquiesced without much concern, "Let's just plan to call one another in an hour to check in and see where everyone is."

"Of course," That made perfect sense; knowing their charges, no one would stick around in one spot for an hour, let alone thirty minutes.

Still, it didn't mean she wasn't going to try. And, going back to the beautiful landmark before her, Beryl proceeded to do just that.

"Mrs. Patmore," Charlotte's voice called her attention to the young woman, unintentionally interrupting her plan to enjoy the art piece. "Can we go over there? I think I see a fountain that way. Something that looks like one, at least."

_Oh, all right. _Sharing a look with Albert, silently agreeing she'd go with Charlotte and whoever else wanted to check out this fountain while he stayed at the Bean, the band director turned to the student.

"Why not?" It's not as though she wanted to enjoy the Bean. And without another word, she followed her student and the others that tagged along — Andy, Thomas, and even Mary and Matthew trailing behind.

"Oh, good," The eldest Crawley sister primly commented, "A fountain is exactly what we need right now with this heat."

The young soprano was thinking this fountain was to be something similar to the ones back home; the stylish ones that remained a glorious and dignified centerpiece to any park. Like the one in Trafalgar Square or even Whitley Court, this had to be one that was teeming with fantastic elegance.

Yeah, Crown Fountain was not quite that.

"Are those— are those _people playing _near the fountain?" The eldest Crawley daughter didn't quite splutter, but it was a near thing. Crown Fountain was two tall rectangular fountains that, instead of being decorated with a tasteful marble or statue of some kind, had a video with the faces of smiling people on it. Worse still, rivulets of water accentuated all four sides of the fountain, playfully dousing anyone who came within a foot of it.

And worst of all in the fine opinion of one Mary Crawley, _everyone _was rough-housing about the fountains. It would have been somewhat tolerable if only children frolicked through the water. It looked, however, that people of all ages basked in the frivolity, even—

"Matthew!" She sharply cried out at the sight of her friend and her chaperone enthusiastically approach the fountains. "Mrs. Patmore!"

"Oh, just loosen up, Mary!" Andy said, having been in the process of taking off his shoes in preparation of stepping. On the flipside, Thomas looked as reluctant as she felt when it came to getting drenched in the middle of the morning. "C'mon, Thomas, it's been _boiling _today."

Well, even if Barrow was becoming inclined to venture into the depths of Crown Fountain and leave Mary to her own devices — well, that didn't mean _Mary _had to abandon all reason and join them in their chaos as well.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 10:31am ****CST (4:31pm GMT)**

"This. Is. _Brilliant._" Rose gasped in wonderment at the sight of the seven-story building. In beautiful black lettering, the waters _Water Tower Place_ called out to her and beckoned her inside one of the largest malls in the Chicago area.

"Now, remember, everyone," Cora had started to remind them, just barely gaining their attention. It seemed that, of the group, only Daisy, William and Septimus looked interested in listening to their chaperone. Everyone else — Rose, Jimmy, Sarah, and Gladys — seemed to be foaming at the mouth at the sight of such capitalism. "We stick together! Everyone will get to visit a shop they're interested in, but we _must _stick together!"

She should've known better than to have expected that. And, hours later, when they would be dragging Rose and Daisy out of _Forever 21_, tearing Jimmy from_ Abercrombie & Fitch_, wrestling Gladys out from the trenches of _Akira_, feeling unsure about why they were catching Sarah in _American Girl Place_, making sure Septimus remained at his seat in the food court instead of disappearing into a candy quite a few floors up, and ensuring William didn't get caught in the throng of tourists filling up the elevators, Cora would learn that she was not made for this type of adventure.

And she learned one other useful piece of information from all of this:

Next time, she'd letting Robert handle the chaperoning.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 11:12am (5:12pm GMT) **

It was with a sigh of relief that Charles looked out over the Chicago River and down the ensuing riverwalk. When Elsie had informed him that several students wanted to venture alongside the famous river, he'd been all too happy to accompany them as a chaperone for this riverside journey. Not only was it a great excuse to spend time with her in what he was realizing was one of her favourite cities, he was also allowed the rare opportunity of publicly spending time with her. And, even though not all of his favourite students were in this crowd, it hardly mattered with such a carefree day before them.

With the watery canvas of teal sparkling as several rays of the sun caressed it, he couldn't help but feel at ease. And with the easy-going crowd of students — Anna, John, Gwen, Phyllis, Joseph, Harold Lowe, and Robert Thompson — all meandering in plain sight, he didn't have to worry nearly as much as normal. It all added up to what was undoubtedly going to be a pleasant excursion for all involved.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Charles had felt her presence long before she spoke, his fiancée having been trailing alongside a safe distance from the water. Being on the south side of the river, there was still a fantastic amount of people surrounding them. But as she gently grasped his hand, keeping an eye on the students as she reveled in this, he couldn't help but direct his gaze toward the real beauty in sight, feeling as though they were the only two for miles around.

"Absolutely." Elsie was oblivious to where his attention now lay, still looking into the murky depths that scattered themselves through the teal. That only gave him more reason to admire her. And, admire her he did: the sun had kissed her hair ages ago, the tension that had lined her shoulders after Beryl's phone call earlier having gradually faded into the air. Those delightful blue eyes, a sky blue that had stunned him the first time he ever saw them, warmly glowed in the daylight and were far prettier than the stunning ring that rested on her finger. To complete the image, a beam of joy beheld her face, the woman clearly quite at ease and enchanted by the day.

Charles couldn't remember the last time he'd ever been so lucky or grateful for the life he had. And the fact that this was just the beginning of the adventure — whether that was for today, this week, or this his next part of his life — was so indescribably wonderful.

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, can we kayak down the river? It's only $25 for the weekdays! Of course, that's per person and for an hour, but—" At the thought of _kayaking _down the river they were currently walking by, a shudder passed through the man and swiped all thoughts of admiration away.

"Certainly not!" Why Joseph Moseley, the baritone who had apparently babbled away most of the flight due to nerves, had dared to put such an audacious question forth was unimaginable. That he even thought the choir director would consent to subjecting himself to such an activity in the middle of a competition week was astonishing. But, just in case the young man had thought Charles would change his opinion, the choir director began to open his mouth in order to properly lecture about the subject.

"Mr. Carson," The bewildered irritation deflated out of him the moment her lilt reached him, her voice successful in taking away his frustration. "Did you see the text Isobel just sent?"

"What?" Immediately distracted by imagining what would cause the chaperone to text them, he quickly reached into a pocket to retrieve the device. Though, the man found himself rather perturbed when he finally caught sight of the text, the reality being nothing like what he'd been anticipating.

_**Just received an excellent suggestion for lunch - does anyone object to meeting at Lou Mitchell's at noon? - IC**_

"'Lou Mitchell's?" He hardly knew the place, turning to Elsie. "Do you know it? Is it an equivalent of Lou Malnati's or something?"

"I think I've heard of it, but the two establishments are separate entities." Biting her lip as she concentrated on recalling some information, "I believe they do big breakfasts and lunches, so the students should be able to share meals." Which meant that she was all for it and would have no protest.

Yes, well, then he knew what his answer would be if that were the case.

"I take that to mean kayaking is out of the question, Mr. Carson?" Joseph curiously interjected, not understanding the subject had been dropped for a reason. However, watching the choir director shoot him a look of indignation — one that only tended to appear around the more stressful times of the school year — the baritone started to comprehend the situation. But, just in case it wasn't clear, Charles was more than happy to inform his student on exactly why kayaking on the river was out of the question. Though, before he could, he found that his phone was interrupting the conversation once again. Stunned by the name now appearing on the screen, the choir director curtly walked away from them all and hurriedly picked up the call.

_"Charlie?" _A voice he hadn't heard in ages stopped him in his tracks, everything else fading to the background.

"Yes?" He couldn't greet the former friend with any old nickname, unsure of why the man was calling but instinctually knowing it would not be good news. Although they still competed against one another for years now, their friendship had awkwardly come to a halt after a certain debacle. Therefore, if Charlie Grigg was ringing him up out of the blue, this had to be important. And it'd better be important at least, for the sake of his phone bill. "If you're drunk or something, you better hang up _right now_."

_"It's Pro." _

Without having to elaborate, Charles found he had the horrid answer all for himself. Stilling further than what felt possible, the man numbly observed the rest of the statement his former friend had for him, hardly needing the details of what happened to their former teacher. These sorts of things happened whenever they wanted to happen, and it wasn't as though knowing how it happened would mitigate the fact that it _had _happened.

Hanging up the phone call with trembling hands, finding himself desperately needing to fidget with the phone as well as his general person, the man realized he couldn't move. He could breathe, he could think, he could wonder why on earth this had to happen, but he couldn't _move_.

"Charles?"

A gentle touch on his shoulder jolted him back into the world of the living, the man now remembering where he was. And, silently turning to his fiancée, he almost confessed reality. That is, a confession brewed until he caught sight of the students. Students who were respectfully avoiding him and giving him appropriate space to handle whatever the phone-call had been about, but his students, nevertheless.

"I'll tell you later." The man couldn't do this right now. Couldn't inform her of the unfortunate facts when they were in the middle of all of this. The facts were simple, unfortunately quite logical all things considered.

It didn't make revealing them any easier. Not this time.

"All right." Elsie quietly agreed, still maintaining a tender hold on his shoulder as she recognized the withdrawn look on his face. It was one she'd carried for months this last spring, and one that informed her as to what his news probably entailed. "But I am holding you to that."

Cracking a very thin smile, possibly the only one he'd have for the next few hours if not a while longer more, "I wouldn't expect anything else."

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 12:24pm (6:24pm GMT) **

"Mrs. Hughes," The woman looked up curiously as Sybil Crawley approached the chaperone table _Lou Mitchell's. _The diner hadn't been enough of a distraction for Charles, not that she necessarily thought he needed to be "distracted". But perhaps whatever the young soprano had to offer would help with soothing away the news of that phone call. "Apparently, Edith's writing conference is going great!"

"Really now?" That was good news indeed, news that lifted her spirits and even brought a lighter atmosphere to their table. Although none of the other chaperones knew exactly why the choir director was in a solemn mood, they had all been impacted by it. Thus, smiles began to peer out around the other adults, all except for Cora, of course — she already knew about how brilliantly the writing conference was going and was past the point of merely beaming with pride.

"Really!" Oblivious to the somber mood of the table, Sybil persisted in bringing a kind spirit to the table. "She apparently was put on the spot in the middle of a demonstration and got an opportunity to prove how much she knew about rhetorical analysis!"

"My, my," Elsie spoke from habit, subtly eyeing Charles and worriedly noticing he looked totally unaware of the topic. Typically, the man would have at least reacted to the fact that Sybil's voice was racing into _mezzo-forte_, but he remained at a lost. "We ought to let her know how proud we are of her, and how much we miss her."

"How about sending a Snapchat?" Somehow, whenever technology was involved with the choirs of Downton, so was Rose MacClare.

"A 'Snapchat'?" The word sounded familiar, but with everything else going on she could hardly recall what that actually entailed. Luckily, the young soprano was all too willing to explain the phenomenon known as "Snapchatting" - an phone app designed to send goofy photos and sweet videos to fellow "Snapchatters" — to her teachers.

And, soon enough, they were gathering everyone in the diner — random wait staff, fellow students, the chaperones, and even the occasional customer — in sending multiple Snapchat videos filled with loving comments about how excited they were for Edith, how awesome it was to hear it was going well for her, how much they missed and so on and so forth.

Needless to say, when Edith Crawley looked at her phone an hour or so later, she was in for quite the experience.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 5:37pm (11:37pm GMT)**

"Well, it's either we eat at McDonald's for dinner or Rainforest Café," Cora announced to the rest of the chaperones, "Because those are the closest things in the area that the students want to eat."

After wandering through the parts of the downtown that surrounded _Lou Mitchell's_, they had wound up at one of the many Garrett's Popcorn shops — a famous establish in which the specialty was delectable popcorn. And though the queue was far longer than it needed to be, at least in the opinion of a certain choir director, the students had all proclaimed the delicious popcorn to be quite worth it.

"Do you not suppose we should just head back to the hotel and see what they have to offer in that part of downtown?"

"In this instance, Mrs. Hughes," Isobel tiredly responded, "I think it'd be wiser to stay here and eat nearby. Although the hotel will probably cost less, keeping morale up before lessons tomorrow is far more important. And we're still quite a few blocks away, much too many if we don't want the students to get too hungry."

"But why would they want to eat at a McDonald's?" As a bit of a food snob in her own special way, Beryl was shocked that the fast-food restaurant was even on the list of places to eat.

"I take it you haven't looked at the McDonalds in question," Cora remarked. "Questionable food aside, the building's an impressive sight."

"I suppose so," Albert conceded, realizing that the McDonald's on Clark and Ontario was eye-catching in its own way. "Though, I don't think that looks are a good enough reason to drop by."

"Indeed," Charles contributed to the conversation, surprising the other chaperones. It'd been the first thing he'd said in over an hour. "So, between the two I suppose we ought to go with this Rainforest Café."

"Well," Elsie began, faintly biting her lip, still concerned for the man. "We can always go back to the hotel and—"

"No, no." _Pro wouldn't have wanted that, _"We're going to have fun and enjoy ourselves at this Rainforest Café."

The other chaperones nodded faintly at this, not really believing him. But when he brought forth another solemn smile, knowing how easy it was to get caught in grief, he forced them all to accept his statement. Yes, there was a sense of detachment in his thoughts, a bemusement that haunted every interaction since that blasted phone-call. But, if anything, it all only reinforced what he had learned with Elsie this spring:

Who knew how long they'd be here? And, therefore, they had to keep living and doing the best they could, in the circumstances they were afforded. Spend the moments they could with the people they loved, because there was no guarantee of that being the future.

Besides, there'd be time to cry and grieve later. He had no doubt that the moment the pair of them were back in their hotel room, she'd be gently prodding him as to what had happened. And, the truth was that he would hardly require much prodding, not for this. Not when it came to openly recalling the teacher who had pushed him to his highest potential, the friend and mentor who he had come to rely on for decades afterward.

And, how could Charles honour the memory of such a brilliant man if he kept it to himself? He didn't want to imagine a world in which he wouldn't share that memory, especially when it came to the woman he loved.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 6:23pm (12:23am GMT)**

"Do you think Mr. Carson is all right?" William couldn't ask the chaperones about this, having noticed the five other adults were almost guarding the choir director from the world. But he had to ask someone, and Matthew was as good an option.

"I'm not sure," The tenor honestly replied, his eyes glancing over in the direction of their teacher. "But, I think he's going to be."

"Guys, can you believe they actually agreed to this? _And _that this place had enough seats for us? " Both tenors looked over at Alfred, a little unimpressed with his attitude. But it was indeed a bit of a miracle. The chaperones had managed to get enough tables for everyone to sit near one another. And, fortunately, the whole rainforest vibe was settling well with so many of the students. Quite a few of his peers enjoyed the background sounds of the café, getting a kick out of the animatronics as well as the lighting effects and overall theme of the place.

"Yes," Sarah O'Brien sarcastically muttered nearby, looking as unimpressed as Matthew and William felt. "Quite lucky."

Well, for once, the three students were in complete agreement.

For different reasons, mind, but still.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 6:41pm (12:41am GMT)**

"All right," He was concerned about Charles, but knew that it wasn't the time to inquire what had happened. Therefore, Albert Mason felt it only made sense to ask Beryl the other question that had been bothering him for quite some time. "Do you have any idea why that Jimmy fellow is tagging along in all of this?"

"Jimmy Kent?" She questioned, confused by the change in subject but willing to answer him.

"Yeah," Albert continued, making sure she was the only one who would hear this next part. "The arrogant tosser who seems to flirt with every girl in sight."

Beryl nodded at this, taking in his attitude and contemplating an appropriate response. She did have an answer, she just needed to phrase it so Albert would understand.

"Sometimes," The band director confessed, with more than an inkling of frustration, "If someone is talented enough to make a legitimate difference in a competition, you have to work with their... personality quirks."

"All right," Albert could somewhat see that, but he wasn't convinced that it had been necessary for Jimmy to get this chance. "So, out of two hundred kids or so, he's got enough talent to get in?"

Beryl nodded again at this, knowing that it wasn't terribly believable that his talent outweighed his attitude.

"Even though he'd probably cause more trouble than he might be worth?"

"Now, that's not true. Mr. Carson and Elsie wouldn't have allowed him this opportunity if they thought that." Her eyes flickered in the direction of the tenor, the young man rather engaged with the others that surrounded him. "Jimmy Kent's many things, but more trouble than he's worth..."

This is, of course, when the tenor had said something indistinguishable that had his companions snorting outrageously in disbelief. And, judging from the fact that the small group all now leaned in as though it was something highly inappropriate and liable to land them all into some sort of lecture if overheard, whatever point she originally planned on making was lost.

"And you're sure they weren't just being kind?" _Maybe a bit naive, perhaps?_

"He's got good breath support, some of the best in the school!" She defended, the conversation now becoming a matter of pride. "And he is one of the best tenors in the group."

_Well, that's convinced me, no doubt. _But, he wasn't about to sarcastically retort about this. Sure, that's how he felt about the matter, but it wouldn't serve the situation in the slightest.

"So," Albert eventually offered, "Even though this is supposed to be about having fun, it's also about doing well?"

"Yes," Emphatically agreeing, "That's exactly the point."

And still, "They really couldn't find another kid more talented?"

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 8:02pm (2:02am GMT)**

Alright. Once Daisy Robinson had somewhat adjusted to the height of the skyscrapers that loomed about her, she could admit there was something pretty about the city. With the sun setting in the distance, the rays that passed through the buildings made them look nice and lovely. It didn't mean she loved this city as much as Mrs. Hughes — a good countryside is what home was for her; this wouldn't be home anytime soon. But, still, there was a little charm to the place, she supposed.

"Septimus?" The bass didn't really look like he liked Chicago, glancing warily about like the buildings were going to topple over or some equivalent. "You okay?"

"Fine," The teen distractedly muttered, totally not convincing Daisy.

"You sure?"

He shot her a look, "Positive."

She nodded to herself, "Well, when you _are _actually okay, let me know."

It was a hint of Patmorian cheek at its finest, even if she didn't quite have the rhythm down just yet. Nevertheless, it did manage to coax a snort from Denker — who'd been eavesdropping from a short distance.

"And when you're done listening in on conversations you're not a part of," Daisy pointedly retorted at her classmate, "I'll be done ignoring you."

Let it be known that once Daisy Robinson had somewhat adjusted to being in _the _competing choir of the summer, she felt far more comfortable with letting her cheekier remarks fly. Oh, she could still squeak like a mouse on occasion and she was a bit shy, depending on the situation. But the sparks of confidence that Mrs. Patmore had encouraged, something that the band director had been doing since Day One, had gradually grown into a beautiful firestorm of assurance.

One that would not tolerate any unnecessary behaviour.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 9:21pm (3:21am GMT)**

Having to share a bed with another person of the same-sex two nights in a row was disconcerting for one Thomas Barrow. Having to share a bed with _Andy_ for the second night in a row was downright discombobulating.

"Thomas?"

It had been bad enough that first night, when he realized what would have to happen. With twelve boys in the choir, it only made sense that they'd all share a queen-sized bed to make the sleeping arrangements work. It just meant that there'd be three rooms in total, with four of them in each room.

But, now, they all were wrapping the evening and heading to bed for a second time that week. Which mean he had to share the space with Andy once again. Which also meant that he'd be less than foot away from his best friend and his stupid little crush, and how could he have been so stupid as to—

"Thomas? You all right?"

"Fine, Andy. I'm just fine." The baritone lied, not able to face the truth just yet. This situation had to get easier, it just had to.

Else he honestly didn't know what he'd do.

_._

**Tuesday, the 6th of August, 2019 - 10:04pm (4:04am GMT)**

When they had finally returned to their room together, she hadn't inquired what had happened. There were various clues from the whole day that had given her enough of the somber answer. She also knew that, in instances like this, it was best to let him tell her on his own time.

Still, when Elsie had re-emerged from the bathroom to discover that Charles was sitting motionless on the bed, having not budged an inch after switching into pyjamas, she knew something needed to happen. And, when he turned to her with the most broken look the woman had ever witnessed from him, she couldn't help herself as she hurried over. The man looked as though he'd suffered a horrid loss, one that had been _far_ too close to the heart, and one that she never wanted to see ever again.

"Oh, Charles," Joining him by the bed, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder and testing the waters as to see how her fiancé would react to the contact, she was stunned into silence when he immediately pulled her into a tight hug without another word. More shocking, but not necessarily surprising, was the sensation of water dripping onto her top, the feeling of his swelling tears on her. It moved her to tighten her own hold on him, to continue reassuring him that, no matter what else happened, she was still here and she wouldn't be going anywhere.

"I'm so sorry," Elsie couldn't believe the defeated mumble burying itself into her clothes, the muffled and apologetic tone sounding like a terrible form of dissonance to her ears. It didn't make any sense why or what he was apologizing for, though did much ever make when one was absorbing grief? "I'm so sorry I couldn't— that I haven't been able to— that I—"

"Charles," The _sotto _murmur broke through his mutterings, giving her a chance to quietly reassure that, "There's nothing to forgive."

Continuing to rub a tender hand on his back, Elsie let his words stumble into silence, holding onto him as his sobs shook them both where they sat. Whatever had happened, whatever else had fallen on top of adjusting to a new country and the inherent stress that came with being a competing choir director, it made it all too much for him. And though she was fairly certain she could guess what happened, it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was being here for him in this moment.

"Just cry, Charles." She murmured into his shoulder, knowing this was all she could do for him. "Just cry."

And, so, he did. Her stoic man, one who many never witnessed such emotion from, continued to break down in front of her and sob. And when he poured all of his unspoken grief into his arms, letting go of as much of he could, she continued to steadfastly hold on. Carried on with tenderly embracing him, much as he did for her back in April and every other stressful moment she needed it. And all throughout his necessary convulsions, she patiently waited for his breath to even out into the tempo only sleep could bring.

When his weight had finally slipped into that of someone who had let the soothing breezes of rest bring them into a deep slumber, she delicately moved a hand to the blankets beneath them. Managing to lift a corner of the covers back, she somehow maneuvered them both under the blankets and back into the soothing depths of the bed.

"Elsie," She could swear he murmured this as though he were awake and cognizant of her actions, even though she knew the man was fast asleep. Something unintelligible followed his uttering her name, though whatever it was coaxed him to slip further into her arms, tearstained cheeks brushing against her own.

"It's all right, Charles." Elsie softly spoke, knowing this to be the truth. They would manage through whatever this was, and would make the best of the situation. She also knew she didn't how inappropriate their embrace could be construed. This was hardly an explicit moment that bordered on a salacious nature, resembling nothing like what had begun this morning. No, this was different. This was the sort of tender grief that they started with, the understanding that had guided them to sharing that kiss all the way back in January. A sweetly poignant reminder that they were not alone, and that they could rely on one another, regardless of what life brought them.

It was with that reassuring sentiment that she curled into his arms a little deeper, letting her eyelids gently shut. Some form of grief may have struck them today, but they would face it all together. And though today may have had some dark linings sketched within it, she instinctually knew that tomorrow would bring with it something far kinder.

_._

**Author's Note: **I do promise that, even though that loss will occasionally pervade the rest of the story, it _is_ going to be a sweet adventure as a whole. It's still going to have lighter moments and tender moments, there'll just be a different tinge on the overarching tone. But, that really is life for you: always reminding us why it's important to truly live while we can.

Now, in regards to pairings and things like that, not everyone's going to have a romantic time here. For instance, don't ask me why, but I keep seeing Daisy and Spratt just having this oddly sweet sibling dynamic going on. Furthermore, although Thomas has feelings for Andy, they're not going to be a couple. That doesn't mean there's no hope for Thomas in this one... *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*, it just means that it won't be Andy and Thomas if something were to happen.

In any case, I hope you all are enjoying the story so far. In the next chapter, it'll finally be time for the musical part of the adventure to begin. Aka, it's time to meet some OCs and learn a bit more about this type of life!

And, as always, have a nice day!


	3. Voice Checks and Skydecks

**In response to guest reviewers: **

_To the guest who has also experienced being stuck in a sardine can,_ I am so right there with you! And, yeah, I can only imagine what it'd be like having to endure such a "normal" experience with twenty five teenagers! And, haha, yeah that surprise was inspired by a very similar situation for a former choir director - though, it was a bit more complicated. Fortunately, for both the fiction bit and the real life one, it was still a lovely experience that worked out wonderfully for everyone involved.

_To the guest who loved the sightseeing as well as other parts to this last chapter, _I'm glad you loved it! I definitely agree that Cora had the hardest group. And, writing about Moseley with his kayaking request legitimately cracked me up so much I couldn't even write for a minute. Furthermore, the sight of Carson in a kayak gives me strength - once I get over all the ensuing laughter! On a different note, I definitely agree about Jimmy's personality. And, speaking of difficult personalities, I am right there with you when it comes to both Mary and Thomas! Now, in regards to the phone call, I believe you'll find an answer within this chapter. And, finally, it's always difficult to choose between two things you love. But, in the case of Edith, she's definitely going to continuing getting encouragement from Elsie, regardless of what she chooses.

**Author's Note: **And, now it is finally time for the musical part of the adventure to begin! Time to meet some OCs and learn a bit more about this type of life! **Also, all upcoming vocal tips/techniques/ideas are ones I've legitimately been given. **So, no matter how silly they may seem, they surprisingly work quite well. Moreover, my sincerest apologies about the length - I've tried to have it be one chapter for one day in the week, and it looks like they're all growing to be a bit monstrous in size.

**Disclaimer: **Lane Tech, the Chicago Brown Line train and other streets mentioned are real. As well as Buckingham Fountain, the Sears Tower/Skydeck, and other places brought up in the story. And, yup, you can bet your bottom dollar that I don't own any of them - though I do carry a fondness for all of them.

**Additional Disclaimer:** all the OC characters are fictional and do not intentionally resemble anyone - except for four individuals that I had to include.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 5:32am (CST) [11:32am GMT]**

Perhaps, had Charles Carson woken up to an empty bed or a wall of isolation between him and his future wife — isolation brought on by a supposed need for decorum — he might have started the day on a dismal note. He might have remembered his old mentor and friend's passing with more desolation than he'd like. Might've had no desire to rise up and face the day, might've easily let himself sink back into the mattress and desperately try to ignore this painful world for as long as he possibly could.

However, _because _he woke up to the enchanting warmth and affection that came with cuddling with Elsie through the night, the day couldn't possibly start on a dismal note. That would be because her presence reminded him of the joys that came with living, the joys that could overpower the pains. With her by his side, his heart felt light enough it would only conjure up fond memories of his mentor. And because she was there, the only reason he had no desire to get out of bed was because he wanted to treasure these blessed seconds for as long as possibly could, nothing else.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 7:01am (CST) [1:01pm GMT]**

Sybil Crawley had been brimming with excitement ever since they'd touch ground at O'Hare, so very ready to have adventures in the city of Chicago. She'd been observing practically everything on the ground with a sense of awe, even the tedious things like traffic and hordes of people swarming the streets. Everywhere she looked, an exuberance laid within in sight, one that had her eyes glued to everything within her vision.

Yet, her excitement was quite possibly beaten out by Tom's. Upon making her way downstairs to enjoy breakfast before their lessons started up, she came across her friend openly staring out one of the many windows that depicted the city in its full glory.

"How do you like the view?" She teasingly asked, pleased that he was enjoying this week as much as her.

"I love it!" He confessed, his eyes not leaving the window. She smiled at this, having never seen him quite this ecstatic before and rather enjoying it.

"Shall we get breakfast then?" The youngest Crawley daughter asked, her stomach grumbling at the thought of eating again.

"Just one more minute."

_Suit yourself_, she thought to herself, content to wait.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 7:04am (CST) [1:04pm GMT]**

"Remind me," Albert groggily began, stirring to life on the couch. All four other chaperones had agreed over a month ago it was easier to take a suite that had two queens and a couch instead of getting separate rooms. The only person who would require an extra room would be Albert, and it looked to be cheaper for everyone this way. And, being the person he was, he insisted on taking the couch. "How's this all supposed to go?"

"The competition or today?"

"Both, preferably." Rolling her eyes at the man, Beryl let Isobel take charge of explaining the whole thing.

"There'll be lessons later today for the students and possibly us. Then, tomorrow the competition begins, though we don't compete until Friday. We sing three of our songs, and hopefully make it into the top ten _a cappella _choirs when it comes to rankings. If we do, then we get to sing our final piece sometime on Saturday." Forgetting that she hadn't answered his second question, what they'd be doing today, Isobel went back to getting ready.

_I suppose it's up to me, isn't it? _"Elsie and Mr. Carson are going to meet with the director in an hour or so, as per the director's request. I think they'll obtain everyone's competition IDs then as well."

"Why don't you call him Charles?" Cora asked curiously on a whim, detouring the conversation. "Does he call you Mrs. Patmore, not Beryl, even after all these years?"

_Because that'd be weird if I did that and I don't even want to hear him say "Beryl" — ugh, that'd be too weird. _"He does call me that, yes. And, we just haven't thought about it."

"Yes, well, back to the matter at hand: are we in agreement that it would be far easier to travel via the buses and trains?" Isobel interjected, thankfully steering the topic back toward what Beryl thought was a more relevant subject. "Because, I can check with Charles and Elsie when they return, but I don't intend on picking up anything to rent unless I absolutely have to."

"Yeah, sure." "Works for me." "Who am I to disagree? It _is _fun to take public transportation."

"Yes, Cora." Whatever you say, Mrs. Crawley." "... I'm sure."

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 7:47am (CST) [1:47pm GMT]**

The pair had decided to take the Brown Line train, the one that would snake them through the city and merrily wind its way around the Loop of Chicago. The Loop, also known to as "the L" to many Chicagoans, was a series of above-ground train tracks that literally wrapped around the heart of the downtown area. There was a subway portion to it, but most Chicagoans tended to associate the image of the tracks that looped over the ground more often than not.

Now, this route would require a ten minute walk toward the high school the competition was to be held at — the train couldn't take them right to the door — but it still felt the best route to take. Although the journey would be a few minutes slower, the woman hadn't minded in the slightest. There was something lifting being surrounded by everyday life, something that the other possible routes wouldn't have really afforded them.

Shaking her sentimental thoughts away, Elsie turned toward her fiancé and noticed his focus was taken mostly by the street performers they were now walking past. It was a trio of drummers, happily tapping into the daylight before them and letting the sunny atmosphere dictate the rhythms they conveyed. Their talent was clear, what with the mesmerized crowds surrounding the little group as well as the money they had managed to obtain for their efforts.

"He was a brilliant musician, one of the best pianists I've ever met."

She didn't need to prompt an explanation as to who this was, knowing that the thing Charles needed now was someone to listen.

"And, he would never admit it, but his voice was quite good." Chuckling to himself, able to see a few inches past his haze of grief. "Though, his best talent was teaching. Anyone could have told you that."

The drummers faded from sight, their percussive messages slipping into the distance the farther the pair walked away. But, this little conversation continued long past making it to the train station. In bits and pieces over the course of the next forty minutes, Charles revealed more of the memory he desperately wanted to honour. How this was the mentor who convinced him to take on his position at Downton, the one who never pushed him to be a certain way but always encouraged him to be his best self.

By the time they finally stepped off at the Addison stop and began to trek alongside the residential homes and shops that faithfully lined the street, they were both in a better place, mentally and emotionally. The blocks of brick apartments stretched far enough that when they finally caught sight of beautiful red bricks and grassy lawns, the pair was ready to face the day and see what it would bring them.

Stepping up to the corner of Addison and Western, the two choir teachers finally both obtained a good glimpse in the high school in its full Gothic beauty — the stunning architect was framed exquisitely by an expansive lawn and the verdant trees faithfully lining the paths that led to the school's various entrances. And as they crossed over Western Avenue to finally step onto the official school property, Charles was back to his old self. There was the occasional thought of yesterday, of the grief that was by no means gone. But by stepping further and further onto to the grounds, knowing that there was a purpose to being here and that this is what his mentor would have wanted, he could carry on.

They had stopped themselves at the corner, standing right beside the official **Lane Tech College Prep **sign, breathing in the sight before them. For a high school, it certainly made for quite the impressive sight: rivaling Downton's own beauty, even though the buildings looked nothing alike. Downton was a gorgeous Jacobethan creation, Lane a stunning Gothic representation. And whereas both Downton and Lane had a fair amount of height to their design among other similarities, it still felt as though they were rather different entities.

"Shall we then?"

Surprisingly enough, he had been the one to suggest that it was time to move forward.

Elsie turned to her future husband, recognizing now that he was in a better place. That, they could and would be facing whatever came next next together. And, squeezing his hand in an effort to comfort him, coaxing a faint smile from the man with this action, she nodded in approval.

It was time.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 8:02am (CST) [2:02pm GMT]**

"It is quite something, isn't it?"

Phyllis had spotted him standing outside, just breathing in the sight of buildings that spanned dozens of floors. Joseph looked more intimidated than in awe of the structures that loomed around them, having been on edge ever since they stepped on the train two days ago.

"I just wonder, why they thought they needed to be so tall?" It was both a confession and a question; a query that spoke of the fear that kept his gaze upward and constantly vigilant.

"I'm not sure." Truly, she couldn't comfort him by reciting some well-known fact. She only knew that she found herself admiring the height, thinking it inspiring someone not only thought of these buildings, but went through on constructing them. "But I do know that you're not the only one who's afraid."

"You can't possibly mean yourself," Joseph protested. "You look like you're having the time of your life when we're outside."

"No, I don't have a fear of these buildings." Phyllis admitted, continuing, "But I do have a fear of performing on Friday."

"You're afraid of performing?" She nodded solemnly at this, not feeling any shame in admitting it. "But, you're always so brilliant when it comes to singing. It's me who should be afraid — heck, I _am _afraid."

"You are?" It was his turn to nod in admittance.

"I don't know why they thought I was worthy out of all the other people who auditioned. I mean, I'm just me. I'm not Matthew, I'm not Jimmy or even Septimus when it comes to talent. There are plenty of other baritones who could do this competition better than me."

"Joseph," She began, "You don't have to be a Matthew or Jimmy or even Septimus to be a good singer."

"Well, then the same applies to you." Backtracking hastily at a possible implication, "I mean, you don't have to be like Anna or Charlotte. And you certainly don't have to be like Mary!"

Faintly amused, she remained standing there in contemplative silence, letting the wind sink his encouraging words into her thoughts.

It only took her half a minute of rumination to concede his point and voice her opinion as such.

But, she'd only continue to stick to that point as long as he remembered to apply that very same logic to himself.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 8:44am (CST) [2:44pm GMT]**

"Ah, Mr. Carson, Miss Hughes," The woman running the show, one Deanna Torres, greeted them with a pleasant air and a cordial manner, catching them as they made their way down one of the main halls of the boxy building. "I'm so glad to see you — how do you say it? — safely 'made it across the pond'."

They chuckled in good humour at the phrase, even as both individuals felt a twinge of longing for home. The pair did still want to be here, but the idea of flying back in less than a week was as appealing as competing, if not more so.

"We are, too," Elsie charmingly added, prompting the director to join in on the laughter.

So far, so good. Deanne gave Elsie a nice vibe. And though Charles didn't care for the sound of "Miss Hughes", he had no legitimate complaints as of yet. Nevertheless, what with the last semester having gone the way it did, he was a bit on edge with meeting the director. If she gave him even the slightest inclination that her personality ran alongside a certain former Downton employee, he would no longer be as cordial. They would continue to compete, and they would work alongside the woman as well as they could for the week.

But there would be no lost love if he received even a trace of malevolent behaviour from Ms. Torres.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 8:52am (CST) [2:52pm GMT]**

Beryl had been thinking the matter over ever since Elsie and Charles had ducked out of the hotel. And it was only once she was alone with Isobel that she confessed the thought that had been bothering her for the last hour. Though, that had still only happened after a little prodding. She was in the company of an administrator, after all.

"Is everything all right, Mrs. Patmore?" Isobel had inquired, noticing the woman looked unusually distracted. "Only, I can't help but feel as though something is on your mind."

The band director felt hesitation pull at her to keep her mouth shut. But, after the administrator tilted her head inquiringly and a few more seconds passed, Beryl soon found herself posing the question.

"What do you suppose will happen if we encounter another Emma Butte?" Isobel grimaced at the thought, knowing that there was always that possibility of crossing paths with an equivalent of Emma Butte. That an encounter like that would be the icing on the stressful cake that was a large amount of the spring semester.

But, potential stress or not, they couldn't let that stop them from having an excellent time in a captivating foreign city.

"If we do come across another Mrs. Butte," She began, no longer needing to fish for the right words. "We will do our absolute best to muster through the situation, graciously point out any hypocrisy, and carry on with this adventure. To give anyone our attention unnecessarily, to let some stranger we'll never have to work with again take our energy for no good reason, would only let the Mrs. Butte's of the world win. And, I'm sure you agree with me when I say that that'll never do."

_Right. _Beryl couldn't put the words better herself.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 9:05am (CST) [3:05pm GMT]**

Well, Deanna Torres wasn't an Emma Butte. The competition's director had been fairly pleasant, rather agreeable to answering any queries they had, and acted quite professionally when it came to her overall demeanour. Her smiles had been fairly authentic, her laughter a kind sound if a bit nervous, and she reminded them more of Miss Thorn or Mrs. Crawley — something of a relief.

Yet that didn't mean they weren't shocked by what she had to say. Recalling what was now a memory, the pair bemusedly let the words float around them as they came to a stop within the building.

"_Oh, we won't be requiring your assistance for the lessons the students will be taking, Mr. Carson, Miss Hughes. When your students are learning later today, consider that to be your time-off for you both to enjoy the city."_

"_Pardon?" "What?"_

"_Miss Hughes, Mr. Carson, let me assure you that I am not joking. We've selected some of the finest instructors in the United States to work with the students today. Assistance from any of the competing directors will not be required. In fact, we find that students learn better when the lessons are not given from their competition..."_

"Got kicked out of the club, too, did you?" A voice that grandly filled up the hallway as though it were the sun itself warmly quipped in the direction of Charles and Elsie. They turned, taking in the sight of a quartet of adults who had to be close friends just based off of their personal space alone.

"Liam, don't be mean," The brunette woman in the quartet glared at the only man in the group, crossing her arms and acting as though he were her height instead of at least a foot taller.

"I wasn't being 'mean'," Sending the brunette woman a look as though he hardly believed she'd dare to call him that, he playfully scoffed, "I was commiserating with them."

"Please excuse our friends," The redhead in the group offered the Elsie and Charles, hardly looking terribly apologetic with that teasing look in her eyes. "Clar here's been trying to get us to come here for years, so she's being extra right now."

"'Extra'?" Charles questioned, unsure as to how this dark-haired woman was being 'extra' or what that really meant. The only Asian in the group, a smaller woman who looked as though her height didn't deter her in the slightest, nodded vigorously before saying something that was lost over the incoming protest.

"I am not!" The brunette in the bunch sharply spoke up for herself — only to find herself surrounded by chortles and guffaws alike. Ignoring her friends, she looked at Charles and Elsie, dryly quipping, "I take it you're also fellow directors?"

"We are." Elsie answered for her fiancé, figuring it was easier to say that than to explain their complicated situation. Not that it was a terribly complex relationship in the grand scheme, but she still didn't feel the urge to explain their unusual set-up.

"Well then, you might as well know the goofballs you've been talking to for the last few minutes," She remarked, approaching the pair and grinning at Charles' ever-growing confusion. "Clarissa Magnussen, though since that's all a mouthful you can call me Clar. And these idiots of mine—"

"Who said we were _your _idiots?" Liam snarked good-naturedly as the American Asian chimed in, "Pretty sure we aren't the 'native Chicagoan' who got us lost twice today, Clar."

Elsie's lips twitched in amusement at these teases. Charles, on the other hand, looked mortified by the comments. These four Americans had to be some of the bluntest people they'd met so far, maintaining a level of candid ease that was unnatural in his opinion. And though his fiancée looked to be all for it, he did not find himself quite as willing to enjoy the energy.

"As I was saying," Clarissa spoke as though no one had interrupted her, "The redhead is Elena Muldrew, she's Joylin Cái — and, yes, it sounds like Thai, but it's Cái — and he's Liam Collingwood."

"But everyone calls me Lee — except for these three, of course." Liam took charge of striding up to the pair and offering a hand to shake. They could now see that this Liam fellow was still an inch or two taller that Charles, possibly Alfred's height. And though the American looked to be quite friendly, the sudden presence of strangers was definitely something that threw Downton's choir director for a loop. The goal of this morning had been to interact with only Ms. Torres, not converse with rambunctious strangers.

Fortunately, Elsie was not quite as distracted or overwhelmed as her dear man. Taking Liam's offered hand first, knowing that she was the unofficial diplomat of this trip, the woman gave him a kind smile and introduced, "I'm Elsie Hughes and this is my fiancé, Charles Carson."

"Congratulations!" "Aww, that's so cute!" "How sweet!" "That's lovely — are you competing against each other? Or are you a tag team instead? Or, is it actually-"

"Clar!" Elena and Joylin spoke up once again, shooting their friend a certain look. "We shouldn't interrogate them."

"What? That wasn't the start of an interrogation, I promise!"

But, before the friends could continue to lightly bicker amongst each other, Elsie interrupted. "Actually, we're working together. We represent Downton Academy."

Synchronized squealing sprung out from three of the four Americans as Liam exasperatedly looked up toward the ceiling, somewhat hiding his faint smile at the sound before joining in with his friends. This all in turn caused Elsie to blush a bit, the woman glancing at her fiancé in flustered fondness. Announcing their engagement hadn't quite brought out this level of enthusiasm from anyone else, except perhaps the Treble or Bel Canto choir. Either way, she couldn't help but feel her heart and her smile lift at their approval. There was none of the usual judgments, none of the expectations that many other colleagues or strangers had initially expressed when the pair first spoke of the engagement.

And _that_ was indescribably nice.

"Yes, well, we better get on. Our students are waiting for us," Charles spoke with an air of importance, cloaking himself in a sense of privacy so as to not get overwhelmed. His fiancée turned to him questioningly, realizing he was getting inundated with handling the energy of the Americans. And, understanding that he desperately needed some solitude, she didn't contradict him or try to correct his terse manner.

"If you need any suggestions for things to do and places to see, you need only ask!" Clar told them, "We'll be here later when the kids need to be dropped off for their classes, so you know where to find us."

Elsie nodded, assuring her that they'd chat later, much to Charles' chagrin. But, before any more suggestions could properly break out — that is, other than a rushed, "I will say the Sears Tower Skydeck is totally worth it!" "Clar, isn't it called the Willis Tower?" "No, no, _no_, that's like saying Claremont's next to the beach." "_Ooohhh, _I see." "I don't." "Guys, does this even matter?" — the pair was heading out the hallway and toward the way out of the building.

Though, it wasn't all peace and quiet until they exited. From that American quartet, they did catch one final proclamation of, "They're _so _adorable, aren't they, guys?" seconds after they opened the door leading out of the building.

Needless to say, Charles was not impressed.

Though, once he caught sight of Elsie fighting with her lips to contain amused chuckles at bay, he found himself able to accept the surreal conversation they'd just left behind. It suddenly felt less overstimulating to deal with those four Americans, more harmlessly silly if anything. And because of that, he felt he now had a chance to properly regain his bearings.

But, "You're not seriously going to ask them for recommendations, are you?"

The look she'd sent in response hadn't really answered his question. Far from it, in fact.

"Elsie?"

"C'mon, Charles: we've got a long walk back to the train."

_Stubborn, ridiculous woman, _He couldn't help but think to himself, managing to crack a smile even as he remained desperate for an answer.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 11:30am (CST) [5:30pm GMT]**

Life had faded from the corridors of Lane Technical College Prep for the last month or so. With school having ended in mid-June, the building that had been made for thousands of students felt depressingly barren at times like this.

But, with hundreds of students — teenage learners hailing from all sorts of walks — now roaming the hallways, the building contained a liveliness that had been dearly missed. A thriving sense of purpose, one that had been severely lacking for the summer, effusively washed through the school. Once again, it was time for these grand old halls to be admired, to contain the youthful liveliness they were built for.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 11:37am (CST) [5:37pm GMT]**

It had taken everyone an exceedingly short amount of time to prepare for their respective lessons. Having been given the privilege of attending a lecture of their choice, students had been rather motivated to give this all a go.

Hence, the fact that Mary Crawley was now waiting in a dusty classroom, praying that she wouldn't be bored for the next hour or so.

"Hello," The woman standing at the front of the class, dressed so professionally and standing so primly Mary couldn't help but feel she was about to learn something worthwhile. "My name is Marlene Botto and we will be working together to gain further understanding of one of the key elements of the Alexander Technique. Is everyone familiar with the Alexander Technique?"

Everyone nodded, remaining respectfully quiet as she continued.

"Good. Now, I will elaborate on the basic principles later, but I find this all works best when we jump straight into it. So, for the next hour, you are all unicorns." The woman, the same one that struck the young soprano as incredibly solemn and serious, continued to profusely instruct. "And keep in mind that the sound you carry can only travel upward through the tip of your horn."

"Is she being serious?" Mary remarked to Matthew, amused disbelief taking over her eyes.

"I thought we were learning more about the Alexander Technique, not playing make-believe."

"I couldn't believe it the first time I'd heard it either," An unfamiliar voice, American, snuck its way into the soprano's ear. "But, it actually works."

Turning to the stranger, "You can't possibly be serious—" However, the queer American looked to be playing no joke with them, "Oh, but I am."

"Excuse me, my fellow unicorns, but do you have something you wish to share with the class?"

"No, ma'am." The American, a young woman with strawberry blond hair and distinct grey eyes, spoke up before either Mary or Matthew could say another word.

"Very well. Then, perhaps you'd like to be the first to demonstrate the power of being a unicorn?" Botto's eyes flickered down to the blonde American's small name tag, the unspoken question now being put to her.

"Cindy Paisley. And," With a confidence rivaling Mary's now gleaming in her eyes, "I'd love to."

The instructor nodded at her, curiosity mingling with bemusement in her eyes. Typically, those who interrupted her lectures tended to only make fools of themselves when put on the spot. Maybe they'd impress their classmates a little, but they'd hardly impressed her.

This felt like it was going to be a rare exception.

Stepping up to the front of the classroom as though it were a stage before thousands of people, Cindy's countenance brimmed with a reassurance not many her age carried. Her smile glowed with the brightness of a stage light, her eyes gleaming with the energy of sunny spotlight. From the start, it was clear that she was ready to take on the various tasks of performing: walking up to the front, acknowledging her audience, etc.

"Why don't you announce yourself, for the sake of this little exercise? And sing whatever you announce, I'm sure we'll be able to work with it whatever you choose."

Warmly, with an energy that had Mary critically judging every aspect, Cindy pleasantly started with a firm "Hello," And carrying a charming smile alongside her dazzling stage presence, "My name is Cindy Paisley and I will be singing 'Shy' from _Once Upon A Mattress_."

Matthew gave the American an encouraging smile at this, Mary coldly looking on. Neither recognized the piece, not particularly invested in musical theatre. Still, Cindy didn't look as though she gave a hoot if they recognized it, the young woman unabashedly focusing solely on the song.

"_Someone's being bashful," _The _mezzo-soprano _notes knowingly shot across the room, the singer unfazed by the lack of accompaniment. It was normally a facet of performance that would stifle a more inexperienced performer, but she relished the fact that her voice was the only instrument they could hear. "_That's no way to be, not with me, can't you see?"_

With a voice that managed to pointedly sing and speak at the same time, Cindy continued the conversational notes with, "'_Cause I am just as embarrassed as you." _Slowing down, quieting her voice and still maintaining a steady flow of sound, she drew in nearly everyone's gaze without seeming to move a muscle. "_And I can understand your point of view."_

Pausing, but clearly not ending the song, "_I've always been,"_

Without missing a beat, Cindy dutifully uttered a booming, "_SHY!" _with great glee and carried on with the rest of her song. The note facetiously belted itself across the room, playfully smacking everyone and everything quite unashamedly. And though she looked perfectly dedicated to singing her bit with the greatest of concentration, Cindy's eyes glowed with a great sense of playful mischief — the young American undoubtedly tickled by her own performance.

Continuing, as though this were an everyday occurrence,"_I confess it, I'm shy!" _Her face glanced in the direction of Miss Marlene Botto with only a slight tease in its ever-present twinkle, "_Can't you guess that this confident air is a mask that I wear 'cause I'm shy?"_

"Clearly, you are." The instructor remarked in a deadpan, treating the young woman with a look of faint amusement as she signaled to the young girl to stop singing for now. "And, I was right: we can work with that."

Though, how'd they do so, Mary was still unsure of. This rowdy American, talented as she may be, didn't really strike her as someone who'd take well to instruction. Though, for the third time that week the eldest Crawley daughter was mistaken, as she'd soon be finding out.

"Now, while I'm glad you didn't gesture for the sake of this exercise, Cindy," The blonde teen sheepishly smiled at the lecturer, shrugging as though it had taken great effort to refrain from any gesticulation. "I am going to ask that you don't hold back too much — you were too restrictive in your posture because of it. And, like I said earlier, I want you to redirect the sound through your horn because you're a unicorn, remember?"

"Right!" Having been caught up in performing and doing it right, Miss Paisley seemed to have forgotten this was an Alexander Technique exercise and not a stage performance.

"Now, I want you to start from the 'I've always been shy' part, alright? And, focus only on sending the sound through your horn. You can even use your hand to mimic the action, if that'll help."

Nodding, looking back out into the classroom, the young woman readied herself again. This time, her eyes looked focused on the space directly in front of her — visualizing a beautiful fuchsia horn resting on the top of her head. Because, if she was going to be a unicorn, her horn was going to be any color she liked. And, adjusting her body to balance the metaphorical weight, she began again.

"_I've always been shy!" _Not quite as loud as before, the note sailed through the air with the precision of a laser, ringing with a divine quality Mary hadn't realized had been lacking. Within seconds, it was obvious that there was a difference, and even Cindy looked to be captivated by listening for it. "_I confess it, I'm shy! Can't you guess that this confident air is a mask that I wear 'cause I'm shy?"_

Just letting her hand point in the direction the sound was suppose to go, emulating the line of a unicorn's horn as she did so, worked wonders. Specifically, it seemed to allow her voice to travel through a distinct path of air, one that would keep the sound precise and directed with great forward motion. And regardless of where the vocal notes fell, they travelled beautifully through that path.

"Great job, Cindy! Already, your clarity and projection has improved!" Everyone clapped in appreciative approval, having been astonished by the difference. Miss Paisley had already seemed to be at the top of her game when she started to sing; that even she could improve herself was a flooring realization. "Now, Cindy, I'd like you to stay up here but stand to the side." Turning to the class, "All right, my fellow unicorns, who else wants to try?"

Regally, Mary rose her hand. If this Cindy Paisley character could do that with mere musical theatre, she could do infinitely better with Schubert. And, no, the thought that Cindy was at her level of talent — if not higher, depending on the genre — did not flit through her notice.

Nor did the fact that Matthew looked to be as impressed by the American as the rest of the class.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 1:41pm (CST) [7:41pm GMT]**

The chaperones had gone to Buckingham Fountain on a whim, not having a clue as to what to do after a delicious hotel lunch. Now that they were free to wander about as they wanted to, no obligations for at least the next few hours, all of them were taking full advantage of the opportunity to travel about the city.

Still, that didn't mean they had made an official plan or knew what on earth they wanted to be doing.

"Right." Charles, the only person who was still reeling from the lack of responsibility, took another hesitant step toward the extravagant landmark. "Well, this is something, I suppose. Not quite as grand as Buckingham Palace, but somewhat deserving of the name."

Softly scoffing at her fellow chaperone, the band director shot a look at a certain choir teacher. Beryl hadn't been in the mood for unwittingly snobbish remarks made by uppity choir directors. But she was especially not in the mood for unwittingly snobbish remarks made by uppity choir directors when she had to walk around in this blasted humidity. If she wanted that, she would have stayed home. And, yeah, it was probably just his grief causing him to act this way, but that didn't mean she had to condone it.

"Maybe we should go to the Skydeck now instead, " Elsie swiftly offered them all the suggestion, not needing any bickering to break out. She felt odd for not teaching the students right now, just like Charles. There was also a sense of loss unintentionally permeating the group, even though it hardly any one's fault. Not to mention, it really was strange being "kicked out of the club" as that American had put it earlier. But, still, she was comforted by the familiar scenery and the chance to share this city with her friends. Something that would hopefully remain the case even if they did decide to go check out this Skydeck both Beryl and Isobel had confessed great interested in. "I think it's too hot to stay outside."

"Agreed!" And with another word, Beryl started trudging towards the bus stop, wiping unwanted sweat off her brow with some choice words about the weather. They had passed by the stunning Art Institute and transcendent Millennium Park easily enough, having wandered about the luscious fields of Grant Park in an attempt to reach the fountain. But with the heat growing over the course of the afternoon, the humidity not helping, it became clear that they'd all be wanting to get inside as soon as possible.

Hence, bussing it to what Elsie had all informed them to call the Sears Tower Skydeck. Officially known to the world as the Willis Tower, this was a building that — at least for the foreseeable future — was locally referred to as the Sears Tower. Sears was the original name and, quite frankly, sounded far more impressive than the current title.

"All right. I don't care about the price of parking, I don't care about who else can chip in, I'm renting a car after this — this humidity is simply ridiculous." Isobel declared as they waited another few minutes for the bus.

"I think I speak for everyone," Beryl piped up approvingly, "When I say we're right there with you."

Truthfully, she could speak for _mostly_ everyone. The only one who looked to protest the action was one Cora Crawley — someone who still remained fixed on the opinion that public transportation was far more entertaining and appropriate for this adventure, despite the weather.

But, even Cora Crawley knew better than to protest the decision.

At least, not yet.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 2:16pm (CST) [8:16pm GMT]**

"So, John, what did you learn earlier today?"

All the students had the pleasure of getting a late lunch break in the middle of lessons, an opportunity to get some breathing space from their lessons without leaving the building. Something that the pair was fully intent on taking.

"Apparently, it is possible to sound like a musical instrument." She blinked at this, finding that infinitely preferable to being told to pant like a Rottweiler or a German Shepherd for five minutes. Though, the German Shepherd part was a step up compared to the fifteen minutes of vocal exercises that had followed. "And you, Anna?"

"Oh, not much. Tell me more about this musical instrument stuff." If she never had to imitate another dog again, it'd be too soon. Though, maybe she'd take imitating a canine over her thoughts about this Friday.

"You sure, Anna?" John saw a hint of something in her face, something that stopped him from delving into regaling her just yet. But she shook her head, not interested in revealing where her thoughts were. "All right, if you're sure."

"I am."

In her opinion, he didn't need to know her fears about performing on Friday, not when this was their first chance to hang out together in hours. They could talk about it later, maybe sometime after dinner, if anything.

Though, if she honestly had her way, they wouldn't be talking about it at all.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 2:21pm (CST) [8:21pm GMT]**

"Apparently, the elevator that takes us to the Skydeck goes at like 1,600 feet per minute, so we'll get to the top in under a minute!" Beryl informed her walking companion, relieved they made it through security and the ticket line without any sort of trouble.

"That's enough of that, Beryl," Elsie sharply interrupted, standing in front of them, "I'm sure Albert didn't need to know the speed involved."

"It's all right, Elsie," The man spoke for himself, having noticed something in the choir teacher's statement. "Though, I—"

"All right, everyone: please step onto the elevator," The worker had unintentionally interrupted whatever Mr. Mason was about to say next, ushering them all into the elevator.

"Is everything all right?" The choir director quietly murmured to his fellow teacher and fiancée as everyone shuffled in. Her attitude had shifted from that of an eager tour guide to an individual who felt obligated to parade them around. And while he could blame the humidity on top of the heat, something told the man that this wasn't all there was to the story. Something also told him, what with everything going on, Elsie wouldn't feel it necessary to inform him of what was bothering her — most likely thinking her own problems too burdensome with everything he was dealing with.

And, unfortunately, it looked like that the route of evasion was in fact the one that she was taking: "Why wouldn't it be?"

But before he could pick apart her clipped tone or point out that she's radiated tension ever since they arrived, they were all being asked to listen for a brief explanation of what the next expedient minute would entail. Nevertheless, although Charles wouldn't be able to address the subject for a few minutes at least, he was quietly determined to find out what was wrong.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 3:01pm (CST) [9:01pm GMT]**

Let it be known that Thomas Barrow did not care for the difference in American architect versus British architect. Or, rather, he didn't care for the fact that what should have been a building with only three floors was considered to be, at least in America, a "four-story" building.

Now, why did he not care for this difference?

Because it made him terribly late to his next lesson of the day.

"Excuse me," Spotting a teen his age, the baritone managed to attract the boy's attention without much effort on his part. "But, you wouldn't happen to know where 254 is?"

The American sighed a little, a small smile playing with the corners of his lips even as he sheepishly shrugged.

"Not a clue." The American Southern drawl was distracting enough that Thomas didn't quite catch the statement at first. "And, before you ask, I'm not from the area. So, no, I have no reason to know this place like the back of my hand." The fellow singer looked to want rushed to inform him this, quite possibly uninterested in having yet another foreign teen think he was from this school just because he was an American.

"Get asked that question a lot, do you?" Thomas teased knowingly, a grin growing at the sight of Danny's exasperated nod. "Let me ask another old one, then: what's your name?"

"Danny." Smiling a bit, "Danny Boretsky. I sing bass. You?"

"Thomas." Finding himself unable to repeat the American's cadence, "Thomas Barrow. I'm a baritone."

Exchanging smiles, they even managed to shake hands — though, the Downton student felt something a bit unusual at the touch, noticing that Danny's hand lingered just a second longer than most. Not that the English teen minded, really.

"A baritone, eh?" The American lightly drawled, "I do _not _envy you."

Thomas chuckled, "My part _is_ pretty amazing, you don't have to admit you're jealous."

Danny busted up into snickers at this, easily persuading the baritone to let his smile widen back into a carefree grin.

"So, Danny Boretsky, where are you from, then?" His newfound friend paused a moment, a relaxed smile on his face even as he blinked in a most endearing manner. Opening his mouth to get the stunned words out: "You know, you're the first person to ask me that today," Thomas felt strangely proud of himself, watching the American continue. "You really want to know?"

"Why wouldn't I?" And, glancing around to spot an empty classroom, Thomas gestured for Danny to follow him. "By this point, we'll just get yelled at for disrupting the lesson so we might as well make the most of this."

Danny snorted in agreement, shrugging to himself and giving the teen another friendly smile. "Well, if you're going to twist my arm like that," He sarcastically spoke, following Thomas into the unlocked classroom, "I'm actually from a little town in Texas called Beaumont. What about yourself?"

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 3:23pm (CST) [9:23pm GMT]**

"You mean you've never been here before?"

It turns out that Elsie's tension had been easy to point out once the group of chaperones separated on the Skydeck's floor. What was proving to be more difficult was finding out just _why_ she was so tense. But, now, Charles suspected he was rather close to obtaining an answer.

"When I was in Chicago last, this tower had been here and the floor had been opened to tourists. But, this additional 'Skydeck'? Hadn't even been a thought in anyone's mind as far as I could tell, understandably so. The idea of standing on top of a glass platform above an entire city is — is an _interesting_ approach to sight-seeing, no doubt."

At this third variation of a protest, not that his fiancée would claim them as such, Charles took special care in studying her demeanour. Noticing the unusually wide eyes, the pale tinge to her skin that occurred only when she spotted the glass of the Skydeck itself, and a hint of sweat that humidity did not bring, he found himself rethinking this part of their outing. Her earlier behaviour all made sense now: this wasn't a tension due to the concept of sight-seeing or showing her loved ones and friends a new city in humid conditions. This was about the Skydeck itself.

"Elsie," The man cautiously began, not wanting to upset her. "If you're afraid of heights,"

"What?" Her instinct to deny didn't reassure him. It only served to give him reason to continue his original statement.

"Well, if you are, I've no qualms about walking away from this and waiting for the others."

The pair was still standing on the edges of the furthermost right queue, refraining from officially investing themselves in the experience. The other chaperones had either already jumped into a different queue the second they could or were taking their sweet time meandering around the rest of the floor.

Elsie didn't give an answer right away, but he refused to change the subject. Stepping out into what was essentially a glass box that stood over 1,000 feet above the ground was nerve-wracking to him at first, but he thought it would be right up his fiancée's alley. That, combined with the fact that it would be a welcomed distraction from his darker thoughts, had made this all a tolerable action to take. But now that he was sensing this growing discomfort from her, he hardly wanted to subject either of them to the experience. So, no, Charles wasn't going to sweep away his concern or let it fall away with trivial queries that changed the subject. No, he was going to wait until she honestly explained her thoughts.

"It's not that I'm afraid of heights, per se," Elsie confessed quietly, sincerity reflecting in her eyes. "It's silly — it's not even a fear really." Noticing his continuously prodding stare, one that pushed her to explain herself further, "Charles, I happen to love heights once I remember that. It's just been a very long time since I've had a chance to remember it."

Well, that response spelled out only two questions for him: was it worth it to help her remember that love? And, was she only saying that because they already paid for the tickets? Because if it wasn't worth it, then it wasn't worth it. And, if this was all stemming from a misguided sense of loyalty, a feeling that she'd only cause him more problems if she put a stop to this activity, then they were not doing this.

"Do you want to be here, Elsie? Truly?" Charles had no genuine opinion about being on the Skydeck either way; since it was a bit pricey he would like to see if the experience was worth it now that he'd officially paid for the ticket. But, if push came to shove, the man wouldn't be shoving her. Not when he understood fear and how provoking fear could be so detrimental, so costly, in the end.

"I do, Charles." And taking a step into the nearest queue, making sure he knew she was being truthful, the woman looked out toward the glass. If she did it for a few seconds, a tinge of adrenaline came and knocked back some of the panic, helping her a little. "Do you?"

"I do." Charles hadn't even needed a heartbeat to make his decision, knowing it as well as he did the whole of 402. Being here, regardless of what they did, was far better than being stuck in their hotel room and brooding over the last twenty-four hours. And it was infinitely preferable to trying to instruct hordes of students and feign enthusiasm when he just didn't have the heart to do so — a realization that gave him retrospective gratuity for today's unusual situation.

And with that sincerity in his comforting presence, she gained a reminder that she wasn't alone. That she had a partner who was willing to work together with her on things like this instead of leaving her alone to manage herself. Not that Joe would ever have purposefully done that, but there had been the occasional moment where he didn't understand her. Where he thought her a bit silly for not diving headlong into an action or didn't get why she couldn't always just go with the flow. And while Charles didn't always understand her for that matter, he respected her enough not to think her silly.

"Go on, then," The man murmured encouragingly, before realizing where her hesitance possibly laid. Much like hitting a high E_b_ after years of steadfastly avoiding it, fears like these could induce trepidation quite easily. So, shifting his encouragement into a tease designed only to gently push his fiancée into action, he knowingly took hold of his words and uttered a cheeky, "I dare ye."

Elsie sharply turned at the incredibly poor imitation of her brogue, her unimpressed eyes squarely meeting his playful challenge as a revealing, trusting smile began to creep through her gaze. The sight instantaneously warmed his heart, giving him good reason to continue in this manner. That his tease also got her gradually leading him closer toward those large glass boxes was as encouraging, if not more so. Still, beautiful progress aside, her footsteps were continuing to falter. Not as much as before, but noticeable to someone who'd studied tempos for a few decades.

"But, I can hardly take a picture if I look this sweaty." Pausing, glancing down at her attire in faint disdain, somewhat pretending that this was the only reason stopping her, "I can only imagine what I'd look like."

It was a terrible excuse — one that Elsie didn't really believe even as she offered it. She didn't even know why she was still protesting; the prospect of stepping out onto the glass was not nearly as frightening as it had been when they were in that ridiculously fast elevator. But, the hesitant words still poured forth without a second thought. "We might as well save this for another day."

_Elsie, _He genuinely wanted to believe that she wanted to be here, that she would actually tell him if this was too much. And, there really was a gut feeling within him about this, one that informed him that gently pushing her to do this would wind up creating an amazing experience for them both. He just didn't wish she were fighting this as much as he'd fought having _a cappella_ at Downton.

"I doubt anyone will notice." It was Charles' turn to offer reassurance, to help make this moment for her a little more manageable just as she had for him only yesterday. It was not about coddling her or patronizing her by assuming she was too helpless to face her fears. Rather, it was about putting his fiancée's mind at ease just enough that she could enjoy this and remember how invigorating this sort of thing was. And if he was right, Elsie wasn't as scared as she looked to be earlier. Furthermore, since she'd just said she wanted to be here, he had to take her at her word.

"Suppose the glass cracks?" The woman weakly offered, still taking another hesitating step even as she voiced the concern.

_Aren't I supposed to be the one too hesitant to give new things a try? _It was a strange change in scene, this conversation. One that had happened on occasions before, but rarely. Yet he could only suppose it was inevitable. And, Charles did have to confess: there was a certain delight that came with being the one to provide unshakeable support this time around. He'd had a few chances to do equivalents in the past, but this felt the most exhilarating by far what with the vulnerability Elsie was showing. This was an incredibly independent woman who was allowing herself to voice a fear — something that took a lot of strength. And with a week like the one he'd been having, sharing this with her was far more comforting than any words of condolence she had had to offer.

"Suppose I trip over my feet? Suppose a shooting star hits us right where we are?" Soothingly holding out his hand, "You can hold my hand, Elsie. Then, whatever happens next, it'll happen to us _together_."

She gave a faint chuckle, somehow recognizing hints of a nostalgic conversation in his new words. Even as her trepidation with heights continued to distract her, she clung to that blessed reminder. An October breeze was pulling her heart away from the humid skies of August as the woman remembered an earlier time in which he'd been the one who needed her to be there for him. A time in which she had offered to make the world a little less heavy, because she knew what its burdensome weight could feel like. And, what with the knowledge that the world had been especially heavy for her man only yesterday, she knew she really did want to continue on this adventure with him.

"Well, I think I can find the strength to hold your hand," Vaguely teasing him without any real mischievous spirit in her voice, Elsie warmly took his proffered hand and garnered another glimpse at the edge that was even closer now. When a second shudder of fear threatened to pass through the woman, she didn't try to stop it this time, "Even if we break the glass, we'll at least be doing it together." And giving another attempt at a chuckle, having momentarily forgotten the original tempo of that sweet October conversation, she confessed, "Besides, having you here already helps me feel a bit more steady."

"Right." Although Elsie was obviously still scared, she also looked far more willing to give this a try. It was that willingness that kept him going in this little adventure of theirs, that kept him stepping closer and closer to the sky that awaited them both. And taking great pleasure in the words he now had the privilege of saying, the cadence being one that he remembered with an indescribable fondness, "Well, you always have me if you need to feel steady."

_And I really do mean that, Elsie. Truly._

She couldn't say anything at first, far too floored by the sincerity in his declaration. It was only a stranger politely coughing from a few people behind them — something that successfully informed they're unintentionally holding up the queue — that prompted her into guiding them another step closer. As for a verbal response? She found herself still blanking on an appropriate phrase or remark to make, and thus continued to affectionately reference the autumnal memory.

"I don't know how it's possible, Mr. Carson," She's not really teasing him at all, hadn't been for the last five minutes. And, judging from his ever-present beam, he knew that. Still, these cheeky words were the only ones coming to mind — and she did get a sense of pleasure from bringing them back, if only because his face lit up as she did so. "But you have somehow managed to make that sound a little risqué."

Laughter snatched wisps of air at this, his right hand affectionately gripping her left, conveying his appreciation and reinforcing the fact that he wasn't leaving her anytime soon. But Charles felt this moment called for additional support, other than that of holding hands. Thus, his left hand boldly switched with his right as the former began to comfortingly encircle her waist and bring her closer to him, shortening the space between them. With that action, he succeeded in easing the leftover remnants of wariness from his woman, the last traces of hesitance finally fading into resolution.

"And if I did?" Looking toward the front of the queue, where only two people stood between them and that practically impenetrable glass, "The queue's getting on, Elsie, and we must with it. So, shall we give this a proper go?"

This was her last chance to a take step back, to let this opportunity go. Because, if she did think that stepping back was necessary, he would be perfectly all right with the decision.

Nevertheless, Charles had to confess that was overflowed with a sense of joy when she confidently rose to her tiptoes and gave him a reassuring peck on the lips.

"Well, I definitely mean to give it a try." Already Elsie's words were beginning to sparkle once again, her heart feeling more at peace, safe even. And, keeping her gaze firmly on her love, they waited just another minute or so for the last person in front of them to step out off the supposed desk. After that, it had been a few seconds before the pair had made it to the platform at last. By maintaining a steady grip on his hand, letting his hold on her keep them both at an even-keel, Elsie felt herself step into the glass box — her eyes instinctively closing for a second.

"Elsie, i— it's beautiful."

It was the wonder in his voice that finally gives her the last ounce of courage needed to look out into the world and see exactly what he means.

And once she did, she has absolutely no regrets.

The sight is phantasmagoria at its finest: standing hundreds of feet above the ground, an urban scene elegantly mapped itself out before them, one that is as gorgeously clear as the stunning day before them. Elsie exhales in disbelief and gapes at the scene below her, mimicking a codfish from her astonishment. The closest skyscrapers majestically rise only to fall what feels like dozens of stories short of the Sears Tower, the cars resembling colorful ants, the people mere moving specks of differing shades in the surrounding beauty. 1,000 feet of height truly encapsulates far more than can be described: miles and miles of everyday existence sketching itself into this masterpiece of life.

Those observations all come only from staring through the bottom of the glass and fixating on the ground of the world. When turning upward toward the skies, rays of the sun peek through the glass and lovingly shimmer through every angle of the box. Stepping out further, it is as though a transparent and solid cloud holds them up, painting them a picture of beautiful stability — a chance to reach new heights and feel as though they are literally floating on top of the world. By taking the sketches of human existence and melding them into the paintings of the sky, an expanse of modern life is brought forth — one that captivatingly blends into the dazzling blue depths surrounding them and reminds them not only of the endless boundaries that form the Windy City, but also the unknown possibilities that fill life.

Now, what did it feel like to stand there at the heart of the city? Standing feels as though she is at the top of her vocal range, as though she is effortlessly flinging her voice into the soprano stratosphere with nary a thought. And the further her eyes glimpse at the astonishing world that surrounds them, the more she drinks every inch of it in as though it is air. All of this is beautifully tempered with the feel of Charles by her side, an inherently calming sensation accompanying his touch. As for the panic that came with forgetting what heights felt like, the feeling disappears without a trace, giving way to steadying realization that she is truly safe here. Now, it would normally taken her several minutes to feel comfortable with this perspective of height, at least. But, with his arm wrapped around her and her hand in his, Elsie could have been in a spacecraft hovering thousands of light-years above Earth for all she cared.

"Would you like me to take your picture?"

A young man, the next in their queue, kindly interrupts — reminding them that they aren't alone. Still, even knowing that they aren't alone hardly stops the couple from enjoying this. How often do they get a chance to marvel at such heights or, as a certain poet would've put it, stand in the face of "the long delirious burning blue" before them?

"Please, and thank you." Handing the stranger her phone and switching the device onto its camera mode, Elsie and Charles ready themselves for the photo, their posing smiles far freer than normal. And once the young man does take a photo, she finds herself unconsciously glancing at the floor and confirming that it really is rather thrilling to see the thousands of feet below. And even if it that hadn't been the case it would have hardly mattered because, whatever happens next, they would handle it _together_.

With that in mind, she can't help but pull Charles into a tender kiss that he effortlessly deepens, the adrenaline tempting them both to pay no mind to the queue before them for at least the next few seconds. Though, it really isn't a bother to anyone waiting, for once. Had the couple paid even an ounce of attention they would've realized that most of the people watching them were either cooing or outright cheering at the heartwarming sight.

"Thank you ever so much," Her fiancé says to their impromptu photographer once they part for air and remember where they were. And, yes, Charles is outright admiring the fact that he can see Elsie is legitimately taken with these new heights. It is a relief and a delight, one that he is very proud to have had a helping hand in. And, in all honesty, he has rather liked the experience himself, surprisingly enough.

"It's no problem," The young man easily replies, beaming. "I did take a few extra ones, just in case."

"Really—" "Oh, there you are!" Beryl pulls their attention before either have a chance to look over the photos, the band director unceremoniously taking them away from their impromptu photographer the moment Elsie retrieves her phone. "We'd thought you had ditched the queue earlier."

"And miss out a chance to properly tour the Skydeck?" Elsie quips, the beam in her countenance too relaxed to be fake. The band director's eyes widen at the sound, her jaw dropping a little as she takes in the fact that the pair is practically embraced _and _neither friend look like they give a flying fig about the public display of affection.

"Who are you and what have you done to my friends?"

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 5:01pm (CST) [11:01pm GMT]**

"Thomas," Andy had approached his friend from behind, a smile on his face as he found the fellow Downton student milling about in the main entrance of Lane. "How were your lessons?"

As the baritone turned to see his friend, Andy realized that he wasn't alone this time — much to the tenor's surprise. Rather, Thomas looked to be accompanied by a new friend, something that surprised the teen.

"Classes were too bad, if I do say so myself." Thomas replied, smiling at his friend. "Though, we've more important things to talk about: Andy, I'd like you to meet Danny, who sings bass. Danny, this is Andy and he sings tenor." Moving on without giving either teen a chance to jump into the conversation just yet, "Apparently, Danny's also competing in the _a cappella _round on Friday, but nobody's perfect."

The American laughed good-naturedly at this, keeping his eyes on Thomas as he did so. And, from the way they were interacting, standing a bit closer to one another was normal for acquaintances, Andy couldn't help but stare in wonderment.

"Right," The tenor hesitantly agreed. "Nobody's perfect."

"And, it turns out that Danny is also staying with his classmates at _the Triple Trees _— can you believe the coincidence?"

"Really now?" Turning to the bass, Andy found an odd feeling rise within him. It wasn't that he didn't like Danny — the bloke seemed cool enough, at least from what little he'd seen of him. Rather, it was just the fact that he'd gotten a little used to Thomas only really talking to him. Now, having some random stranger step into their space was a bit disconcerting.

"I couldn't believe it myself, either." The American confessed, even looking to have a vague blush tinting his cheeks. "But, it turns out that most of the kids competing are in _the Triple Trees_." And, they both continued to chatter on, verbal boats against the currents of novelty.

As the conversation proceeded, Andy found his odd feeling not really fading. It didn't solidify nor did it dissipate.

But, when he saw a crestfallen expression eventually take over Thomas' face as Danny's fellow classmates eventually pulled the bass away, Andy Parker decided one thing:

It didn't matter what this odd feeling was about. He was going to support his friend in whatever was going on, and he was going to be happy that Thomas — one of the more reclusive members of their little choir — had finally found another friend who looked to be accepting the baritone just as he was. Because, as odd as it was to witness this change, it was nice to see his friend look a little more carefree in general.

And if this Danny Boretsky was the cause of it, so be it.

**_._**

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 4:29pm (CST) [10:29pm GMT]**

After a spectacular time that quite literally was on top of the world, Charles had almost been disheartened to return to Earth. His time on the Skydeck had been both incredibly enjoyable and enlightening, now that all had been said and done. But, they did have to leave the Sears Tower eventually. And, as they were preparing to do so, there was in fact a conversation coming to mind, one that needed to be addressed. And since it had to be addressed sooner rather than later, he felt it necessary to bring up the subject as they took the bus back in the direction of the students.

"Now, Elsie, I know we briefly talked about a treat of some kind for the students after the competition ends on Saturday, to reward them for their effort. And seeing as how Mrs. Levinson's generous donation had come with the request to spend at least a little toward a group outing, I've been giving the idea a lot of thought."

"Right," It had been a very kind idea that Mrs. Levinson had proposed with her donation, one that Elsie was more than happy to comply with. "What were you thinking?"

Brimming with pride, he began to inform her about the research he'd done: "There's apparently a coal mining exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. It's supposed to be a classic exhibit that's been there for years according to the Internet. And I can't decide between trying to get a group discount for that museum as a whole, and a visit to see The Field Museum. They both would cost some money to visit, which is a shame in itself, _but _I did the math and Mrs. Levinson's donation would still cover the students tickets. It would only be the chaperones that had to pay."

"I see." Trying her best to maintain an understanding smile, Elsie didn't have the heart to tell him that most of the students probably wouldn't like any of those suggestions, not initially. She herself thought the museums sounded a little interesting, if a little too academic for the summer. But, if that's what Charles wanted to do, she'd support him. "And are there any other exhibits between the two that would possibly help narrow the decision down?

"Yes," He smiled so brightly she felt as though she absorbed some of his love for the concept. "The most completed skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus Rex resides within the main entrance of the Field Museum along with an extensive Egypt exhibit nearby, not to mention a beautiful Hall of Gems. And, there's other general exhibits, of course, as well as other museums. But, those are the current thoughts coming to mind."

Now, it was all sounding more appealing. Still, "And what about the Museum of Science and Industry?"

"Well," Beaming again, "There's, of course, the coal mining exhibit. There's also an exhibit on the various chemical storms of science — including a demonstration of lightning after a certain interval of time among other things. In addition to that, there's a U-505 Submarine from World War II that you can tour the inside of as well as walk around — though how that got there I wasn't able to find out. There's also a whole exhibit on mathematical patterns and how they're applicable in everyday life, and countless other activities." Pausing, but by no means finished, "In fact, the building itself is actually a historical artifact. It was a product of the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition _and _was first opened at as a museum at the 1933's Century of Progress, which you probably have heard of as one of the many World's Fairs."

Well, she knew which one he really wanted to go to. And it was one that she found rather fascinating herself. Though, the idea of looking at an entire Tyrannosaurus Rex as well as who knew what else did seem fairly interesting, all in all. In any case, now that she had more information to work with, the woman had a thought that might help with the situation. But, first, it was time for a plan of her own to be brought up.

"So, have you given any thought to tonight's dinner?" Giving him a knowing look, "Because I do have a suggestion if you've no ideas."

"Elsie," The man already knew where this was going, hardly understanding why she and what felt practically every other Chicagoan they interacted with had such a fixation for the meal. "I promise we will all get a chance to try deep dish at some point. But, with the competition less than a day away, I'd hate for any of the kids to suffer from having a dairy-ridden product like pizza."

"Charles, we compete Friday with the other _a cappella _choirs, not tomorrow." Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his continually over-protectiveness nature, "Still, so long as we have it before Sunday, I suppose I'll be able to let the matter go for now."

The keys words in her statement were, of course, "for now". Fortunately, even Charles Carson could recognize that. And though he would've preferred the subject to be dropped, he was smart enough not to get in the way of his fiancée and her strange fascination with the Chicago specialty.

Little did he know, even if _she_ dropped the subject, there were others just as interested.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 5:21pm (CST) [11:21pm GMT]**

"Mr. Carson, can we go eat at _Giordano's_ for dinner? It's not far from the hotel and by the time we get there—"

"_Giordano's_ is Italian, I take it?"

"Kind of, Mr. Carson. Their specialty is actually deep dish piz—"

"I'm afraid that won't be an option tonight, Sybil."

"Mr. Carson, if you're concerned about the dairy products in deep dish, apparently, _Lou Malnati's_ does vegan deep dish pizzas."

"Anna, I'm afraid I must not have heard you correctly. Did you just say the words 'vegan deep dish pizzas'?"

"Yes, I did, Mr. Carson."

"Why you all have a fascination with the delicacy escapes me. That you still want to eat it even when it won't be the original astounds me to no end."

"Does that mean we will be getting the pleasure of experiencing the Chicago specialty tonight, Mr. Carson?"

"No, it most certainly does not, Mary! It means that we will be getting the pleasure of experiencing the Chicago specialty on Saturday."

In retrospect, he should've known to agree to that had been a mistake. Now, a fire lit itself in the eyes of all students within hearing range. A fire that ensured he was going to majorly regret it if he didn't follow through with his promise.

"Now, now, students, let's give Mr. Carson some breathing space. Else he might change his mind altogether."

Only once the students were out of earshot, "Mrs. Hughes, I must ask: did you have a hand in this plot?"

A snort, "Mr. Carson, how could I have possibly had a hand in the machinations of our dear students?"

Well, _that _told him everything he needed to know.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 6:37pm (CST) [12:37am GMT]**

"Now, I'm glad everyone's here." Seeing as how a few students always managed to wander off toward the restroom whenever he wanted to speak to them all, Charles was relieved that everyone was in the same room for once. Instantaneously, his words quieted them all down as he made his way to a spot in the middle of the circle of students, making sure to project his voice for everyone to hear. "We have been thinking of a day out on Sunday, seeing as how the competition will be over." Ignoring the fact that everyone was perking up at the sound of official vacation time, he continued. "And I'd been thinking a visit to the enriching Museum of Science and Industry, or perhaps a trip to see the dinosaurs of the Field Museum!"

Even though his tone was _vivace _their faces spelled out _grave_. Slightly deterred but still wanting to win them over with a trip to one of the many Chicago museums, "Then there's the Art Institute," A _ritardando _came over him, as his originally lively air became awfully depleted in energy. "Of course, the Planetarium," _Or, if we must, _the man dejectedly thought, reducing his words to a defeated_ larghissimo_,"The Shedd Aquarium."

"Will there be dolphins at the Shedd Aquarium?" Why Alfred had an interested for dolphins, Charles had no explanation for. The choir director could only consider himself lucky that someone had any interest at all.

"While I don't know about any dolphins," Elsie had interrupted whatever the man was about to say, "I do know there's air conditioning."

This piqued the interest of several students, especially the ones who had to sit through a whole day of lessons with no air conditioning in the building. Though, wanting to make sure that all students were interested, the woman subtly elbowed her oldest friend in an effort to keep the intrigue going. However, not having expected to be brought into the conversation, Beryl could only hastily recall the one museum exhibit coming to mind: "And at the Field Museum, there's even an Ancient Egypt exhibit!"

Everyone blinked in confusion, not knowing what prompted that statement into existence. Embarrassed, the band director rapidly shot out, "You apparently step inside a mini pyramid and look at some old artifacts from back in the day!"

This fact hadn't really worked to fascinate the students. In fact, of all the possible exhibits to mention, this had been one of the worst ones to bring up. Somehow, blessed air conditioning was cancelled out by the thought of stepping inside a _mini _pyramid and staring at old pieces of pottery. So, though the exhibit was far cooler than it sounded, the students' lack of enthusiasm was politely declining the idea.

"There is also a complete skeleton of Tyrannosaurus Rex in the lobby of the Field Museum!" Cora remembered, proud of herself for recalling that fact. Mrs. Hughes had mentioned the various exhibits to them after Mr. Carson had gone to discuss a few more matters with Deanna Torres, the woman having asked the other chaperones for help in convincing the students to give these museums a chance.

"Actually, Mrs. Crawley," All heads whipped over to stare at Mr. Carson, knowing that his tone meant there had been a mistake made. "It's not technically the full skeleton. I believe about ninety percent of the skeleton has been unearthed, and I think most of the authentic skeleton is in storage for safekeeping. Though, there is a mould of the entire skeleton in the lobby!"

Mould or not, that idea lost its appeal instantaneously. Something that Isobel refuse to let get in her as she stepped in to save the day, "Well, at the Museum of Science and Industry, there's a whole exhibit on natural disasters — you can even experience what it would feel like to be surrounded by tornado-like winds without the tornado!"

This got the energy back up to a better level, encouraging Albert to add, "There's even a coal mining exhibit there, too! You can go underground and get a taste of what it'd be like to have been a coal miner — a very important part of Chicagoan history!"

_Oops. _If there was one thing the chaperones were realizing tonight, it was that they needed to be quiet when they got enough interest. Fanning flames with what was in fact interesting would only result in said flames dying. In short, the _crescendoing _curiosity had all turned into a deadening _fermata_ that none of the chaperones had cued, the lack of sound clumsily signaling the _coda _for this conversation.

"Of course, the Rockefeller Memorial Chapel is always a good day out," Still hesitant to really trust the validity of their chaperones remarks, all the students looked tentative about saying yes to anything."Though, I'm sure we'll figure out something."

"Maybe the Lincoln Park Zoo?" Daisy piped up good-naturedly, not wanting to destroy her teachers' hopes and dreams even if she wasn't at all interested in anything he'd previously mentioned. Though, perhaps she could have kept that suggestion to herself. Although her fellow classmates looked far more interested in the zoo, even if it meant being outside in the humidity, the choir director looked as though she suggested they go cavorting through the halls of the British Museum.

"Maybe." He conceded, though everyone knew what that really meant.

Fortunately, their dinner was just arriving and served as the perfect distraction to let the subject go.

Or, rather, it served as that for the students. For the chaperones, they were still berating themselves over their clumsy attempts at gaining their charges' interest.

_._

**Wednesday, the 7th of August, 2019 - 9:23pm (CST) [3:23am GMT]**

By the time Elsie and Charles finally slipped into bed, they could admit to being thoroughly knackered for the third night in a row. The only consolation was that it was a weariness that came from overexertion tonight instead of a draining grief. Still, since it really was only a weariness and nothing else, the pair had hesitations about how to handle tonight's sleeping arrangements.

Monday had been easy enough because they'd both been far too exhausted to care about propriety. Tuesday made perfect sense because one shouldn't experience grief alone. Tonight, on the other hand, was a night of uncertainty. Would cuddling or spooning be too enticing? Probably. Could they even hold hands or would that be too stimulating for the situation? Unlikely, but there was no certainty either way.

So, they'd faithfully kept their backs to each other and maintained a distance of at least three feet, not daring to look at one another or tempt their boundaries tonight. Although this afternoon had been an effortless moment of beauty once the pair had let all expectations go, this evening had been a reminder of their obligations to their students. And with that reminder came the stifling feeling of maintaining decorum in every possible moment.

That is, until twenty minutes passed and she realized sleep would be evading her for hours at this rate. And, when flummoxing twenty minutes turned into a frustrating thirty, with a growing realization that this would make tomorrow an unnecessarily difficult if this continued, she realized something needed to be done.

"Charles?" Turning on to her other side, the woman took note of the fact that her fiancé's breathing was far too controlled for him to be asleep.

"Yes, Elsie?" It seemed, as eager as his tone was to converse, the choir director felt duty-bound in keeping his back to her.

"Why are we being this daft?"

He's confused, unsure of why she's talking like that. Tuesday morning had proven why they couldn't engage in anything too explicit this week — they had a responsibility to setting a good example for their students.

"I'm not sure as to what you mean." And, closing his eyes once again, he kept his body still and forced it to try to relax — ignoring the fact that he could hear he shifting through the sheets and blankets to gradually inch over toward him.

A sigh ensued from her end, one faintly muffled by a pillow as she calmly asked, "We're both mature adults, correct?"

He snorted, knowing the answer and finding it to be a silly question. Though, knowing that there was a point to her question, "Last time I checked, yes."

"And we are engaged to be married, yes?"

"Unless you've had a change of mind," _Which I certainly hope not_, "Yes."

"Hardly," She whispered in disbelief, the incredulity a soothing melody to his ears. Smiling to himself, taking pride in the fact that there had been no hesitation for his woman, Charles gave a contented sigh and let himself sink a bit into the covers. Perhaps he did indeed want to turn around and properly embrace her, but he knew it was too risky to do so. And, they at least had these assertions to carry them through the next few days.

However, it seemed the conversation wasn't over.

"So," He shivered at the sound of her voice tickling his neck, the _pianissimo _sound still a respectful distance away. "If we are mature adults who are engaged to be married..."

She trailed off into a rousing _fermata_, that delectable Scottish haze that was her accent at this hour waking up the man once again. And now that her voice had sunk into silence, a lack of resolution from her statement had him searching for some sort of answer.

"Yes?" Charles found himself too impatient for the completion of this little song she'd presented, this teasing _chanson courtoise _composed for his ears only.

"If we are both mature adults who are engaged to be married, then, regardless of any deals we've made, why can I not do this?" Somehow, in the tension, she'd silently snuggled up to the man and, as she'd murmured into his ear, ended up tenderly wrapping an arm around his chest. He'd gasped in shocked, never before feeling such a _tremolo _snake down his spine at her touch. And, as her body resolutely rested alongside his, he soon found the feel of her against him inducing a fuzzy qualities to his thoughts, a willingness to partake in a _glissando _that would bring him from drowsiness into slumber.

"There now," The difference was clear as day, and it'd taken only a half a beat to change. "Don't you see this is already better?"

Charles hummed unconsciously in response, a shapeless chord of inherent harmony within her hands. Elsie smiled against him, content to remain in this position. It would allow them to remain together without threatening any sense of duty, giving them a chance to enjoy this little comforting solitude. One in which they were still poised and dignified individuals that just so happened to be snuggled against one another in a gentle expression of affection.

Though, little did the woman know, the second he found it acceptable, the man would be reversing the roles and spooning _her _instead. It may take three nights of inordinately trying patience, but whether they made it into the last round of competing or not, he'd make sure that his own _chanson courtoise_ was heard as clearly as a dominant-seventh chord ringing through a captivated crowd.

And as the man finally dipped into the last notes of consciousness, only three quarter notes away from finally easing into a satisfying rest, one last plan involving his future wife deftly slipped into his mind. It couldn't be acted on for at least a day or two, but it was there all the same...

_._

**Author's Note: **Isn't it great when people can keep their integrity, maintain their core values,_ and _enjoy themselves in life?

And isn't it sweet when we can reshape the past and bring it into the future? Whether that's references to Series 4, references to _Dashing _and _I Shall Not Sing In Vain_, or life in general.

For reference, the song that Cindy Paisley sings is real. And if you want to hear it, look for the Carol Burnett version of "Shy". It should be a black-and-white video, if I remember it correctly :)

Furthermore, all exhibits, museums, and other Chicagoan specialties are very real and very awesome to check out if you're ever in the city *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*. In any case, as always, I hope you're having a lovely day!


	4. Laudable Feats and Blissful Treats

**Author's Note: **Definitely shorter than the last chapter, I recognize that. Still, I hope this is a bit of fun to hold you over until the next chapter - in which our little choir will be _finally _be competing!

**Disclaimer: **None of these new choir directors, choirs, or students were based on actual individuals. In short, other than Clar and her friends, any resemblance is unintentional.

**Today's Songs:**

"Zigeunerleben" by Robert Schumann- Look up "Zigeunerleben - Robert Schumann TMEA Region 3 Choir"

"The Seal Lullaby" by Eric Whitacre - Look up "Eric Whitacre - The Seal Lullaby (Album version w Lyrics)"

"For Good" as from _Wicked _\- Look up "For Good (arr. Mac Huff) NTU Choir"

"Rejoice" by Jeffrey L. Ames - Look up "Rejoice by Jeffrey L. Ames USC Chorale"

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 **

Although Downton Academy would not be competing today, that didn't really matter in the eyes of the thirty individuals representing the school. In the eyes of the chaperones — namely, Beryl, Albert, Isobel, and Cora — today was a matter of keeping an eye on their charges and making sure that everyone's understandable nerves were corralled into a manageable panic. In the hearts of the students, today was all about scoping out the competition, making new friends with anyone they encountered, and enjoying another fun day in a foreign country. And in the hearts of the two individuals in-charge of the overall experience, it was a matter of managing their personal situations, handling the technicalities involved with their positions, and, somewhere in the middle of all of that, enjoying this process.

In other words, they'd all be in desperate need of a proper vacation after this.

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 7:12am (CST) [1:12pm GMT]**

Unlike many of her fellow peers, Sybil Crawley was one who found days like today to be far more thrilling than scary. In fact, these were the sort of days in which she couldn't keep from grinning to herself. Today was a day to discover new songs, make new friends, and get hints of what was in store for their own part of the competition.

"Tom?"

Today was also a day in which she found herself literally bumping into one of her favourite people on the way to the lift. Except, for once, Tom Branson paid no mind to her — his eyes remained focused on the window that stood right next to the lift.

"Tom? You all right?" This got his attention. Or, maybe it was the fact that she'd tapped his shoulder in the process. Either way, he was letting his focus leave the window for a moment, if only to share why he was distracted.

"It's just such a beautiful city, isn't it?"

She nodded, her grin blanketing her gaze with contentment. Daylight had already broken through the buildings, the rays having long-since evolved from flickering through the glassy skyscrapers to outright coating them in warmth. The city was still waking up, but the day was already being rolled into action.

"Makes you wonder what'd it be to live out here," He trailed off, abruptly unsure of himself. Her own grin faded a bit at the thought, not knowing what to think about the idea. Freeing glass suddenly became a little stifling, the warmth creeping into her veins now a bit stuffy.

"You guys going down or what?" Trust Alfred Nugent to be walking by completely unaware of the situation. The bass didn't spare his peers a glance as he smacked the button that'd get the lift to take them down, "I know we're all waking up, but still."

**_._**

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 7:26am (CST) [1:26pm GMT]**

_"Mrs. Hughes," _She could remember some variation of this conversation begin as such. Then, of course, there'd be some depressing equivalent of, _"As much as I appreciate what Mr. Carson has tried to do for us, museums... just really aren't that interesting."_

They really should have known better than to try to convince twenty-four teenagers that an education outing in the middle of the summer was fun. It wasn't that those sorts of outings _weren't_ fun — rather, it was the mistake of overemphasizing just _how_ much fun it'd be. That had been what had cost the chaperones in the end.

Something that had, although he hadn't admitted it, severely disappointed Charles.

So, for the sake of her still-grieving fiancé — he'd put on a brave face in front of their colleagues and students, but the loss of his mentor and friend was understandably difficult to recover from — she continued to wrack her brain in regards to finding an activity that would suit everyone's needs. Something that would be exciting for the students and a pleasant enough break for the adults. Something that would provide a lovely distraction to everyone, and it'd be a bonus if it were relatively inexpensive, too.

That's when Elsie Hughes realized she'd already discovered the perfect idea quite by accident. That the inspiration for their outing laid only a few feet away from her.

She'd purchased it on a whim, having seen it in a display along the riverwalk. And though it was nondescript and might not even catch his attention, it was worth a shot to place it somewhere in their hotel room. She wouldn't be so bold as to demand that this be what they do with the students because said demand wouldn't be entirely fair. But, if he took note of her purchase and decided that the activity was one worth considering, then she was all for it.

Having slipped into their room alone, citing that she'd forgotten something, Elsie removed the object from her pocket and quickly set it down on her nightstand. Surely he'd notice something new there, and this would be discreet enough it wouldn't come off as a command.

But then it struck the woman that placing it there be might seem a bit more manipulative than she'd like this situation to be. Besides, placing the object on her nightstand also didn't guarantee that he'd ever see it, nor that he'd pay any attention to why it was there. No, she needed a more neutral location that he'd be guaranteed to see at some point.

Spotting the drawers in the center of the room, the place in which his wallet was occasionally placed besides her earrings and the likes, it made perfect sense. He would see her purchase at some point over the next few days, _and_ it could look merely like something she wanted to send to Becky or her parents.

It also just might be an obvious enough hint as to where to take the students, a form of inspiration in a sense.

Quickly striding out of the room, knowing she only had another minute or two to get back to breakfast before he got concerned, she resisted the urge to smile at the postcard that now rested on the dresser. It would either work or it wouldn't, but at least she tried something.

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 9:37am (CST) [3:37pm GMT]**

"'_Downtown_' Abbey?" Hissing at the pronunciation, Charles went to sharply reprimand the harried worker before him; luckily, Elsie was already flinging her voice out to stop him before the choir director got carried away.

"Actually," Keeping a polite tone as she conjured up a cordial smile, "It's pronounced 'Downton Abbey'."

"Cool." The worker at the desk indifferently responded, handing over the stack of lanyards set aside just for them. "Just make sure you write that on the announcement card whenever you go to perform."

"Of course," It'd been years since she'd competed as a choir, but she was quite accustomed to indifferent workers who'd mess up her choir's name if given a chance. Just sometimes came with the territory. "Shall we give these to our students, then, Charles?"

Even though Downton wasn't going until tomorrow, everyone still needed lanyards to partake and watch the competition. Originally, they were all supposed to wear competition lanyards for the lessons, too. But seeing as how the lanyards had arrived the day of the lessons — a shipping mistake, by the sounds of it — the requirements changed so as to adjust accordingly.

"Right. We'll do that." Clearly her fiancé was distracted by the fact that the worker "butchered" their name, seeing as how it took him far longer than normal to respond. Still, that was neither here nor there, not if she could help it.

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 11:03am (CST) [5:02pm GMT]**

Mary Crawley had been thoroughly amused by the talent surrounding the competing choirs today. That is to say that she had been thoroughly amused by the fact that so many of today's competitors were, in her humble opinion, not as talented as anticipated. Their vowel modifications were decent for the most part, their energy fairly engaging. However, as a whole, she found today's group of competing choirs to be only decent, nothing more.

This amusement was not at all a form of reassurance that stemmed from insecurity. No, insecurity was _hardly _a thought in the mind of the eldest Crawley daughter.

And that amusement certainly did not diminish at the sight of a certain blonde American take the stage with her American choir of eighty.

"I didn't realize Cindy would performing today," Matthew commented, having noticed that blonde American as well. "Did you?"

"No." That wasn't entirely accurate; Mary had overheard Miss Paisley converse with some friends about the matter, but she hadn't paid enough attention to know for certain. But, that was then. This was now. And she most certainly was going to be giving this choir every ounce of attention she had. The bouncy starting jaunt of the piano only had her leaning in further, the young woman's brain fiercely determined to recall which piece of music was about to commence.

_"In Schatten des Waldes,_

_Im Buchengezweig,"_

Instantly, the recollection summoned itself: _Zigeunerleben _by Robert Schumann. A dignified piece, she could only supposed.

_"Da regt's sich und raschelt's und flüstert zugleich._

_Es flackern die Flammen, es gaukelt der Schein_

_Um bunte Gestalten, um Laub und Gestein."_

They were proficient, she could hand that assessment over. Proficient enough that this wasn't decidedly boring. And, no, she hadn't flinched at the incoming boom of germanic noise as they ascended into the next lyric:

_"Da ist der Zigeuner bewegliche Schaar,_

_Mit blitzendem Aug' und mit wallendem Haar,"_

Nor did she minutely lean back in her chair at the second round of artful _crescendoes _that attacked the audience from the stage.

_"Gesäugt an des Niles geheiligter Flut,_

_Gebräunt von Hispaniens südlicher Glut."_

Mary also didn't bat a single eyelash at the ripples of German now descending upon the crowd. The precision that was required for such enunciation, as well as the dedication to singing only one's part in what could be considered a complex piece, was only a mild accomplishment for Cindy Paisley's choir. No, she ignored that somewhat laudable feat in favour of judging the choir on their _fortissimo _entrance.

_"Und Sagen and und Lieder ertönen im Rund,_

_Wie Spaniens Gärten so blühend und bunt,"_

Glancing back at Matthew, Mary faltered in her critical thoughts at the sight of him peacefully taking in the music. With his eyes closed and a smile playing about his face, the tenor looked to be quite satisfied with the choral proceedings before them.

Whatever. As she said before, it was a decent performance.

_"Und magische Sprüche für Not und Gefahr_

_Verkündet die Alte der horchenden Schaar."_

Here would be the interesting part. The lulling melody was quaint, except Mary was far more interested in who would obtain the soprano solo for this song. After all, a brash American like Cindy Paisley would not have the qualities for—

_"Schwarzäugige Mädchen beginnen den Tanz."_

"German has never impressed me anyway," The soprano lowly complained, turning away from the performance as much as she could. That Cindy had a fairly notable voice, one that the young Crawley woman could concede was somewhat worthy of performing a solo like this, was definitely not something coming to mind.

"Wasn't your solo in German?" Matthew quietly reminded her, seeing right through her complaint even if he couldn't understand why she had the urge to act like this. He thought Cindy's choir was doing brilliantly, and that she herself was proving to be a versatile musician.

"That's different," Arching an eyebrow and continuing to look off into the distance. "Solos are far more interesting in general, regardless of the language."

"Right."

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 11:44am (CST) [5:12pm GMT]**

While there were some who were content to radiate an air of scrutiny for the competition, others felt only a desire to listen to all performing. And this current English lullaby, one whose tone assuaged the troubles of so many in the world, was as placid a piece as any to hear.

_"Where billow meets billow,_

_Then soft by thy pillow;"_

In the swaying tones dutifully provided by Bogado & Canney High, a school that hailed from the New England area of the States, all listening could skim into the dulcet waters before them.

_"Ah, weary wee flipperling,_

_Curl at thy ease!"_

Her hand gently brushed up against his leg, the palm tilting upward as an offering for solace that the drifting melodies only accentuated.

_"The storm shall not wake thee,_

_Nor shark overtake thee."_

He took it unquestioningly.

_"Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas."_

Whatever else sailed into their life, this comfort of theirs could be guaranteed.

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 12:17pm (CST) [6:17pm GMT]**

Thomas had only mean to duck out long enough to find one of the toilets in this maze of a school — the architect may be gorgeous, but he was still tetchy after getting lost yesterday.

Really, that's all he needed now: getting lost within this boxy labyrinth and missing out more of the grand show going on in the auditorium.

Course, all of his begrudging thoughts had stopped at, "Danny! Lost, too?"

The bass chuckled good-naturedly at this, sheepishly shrugging, "For the life of me I can't find the vending machines. And since they're not feeding us today, I figured this was my next best bet for lunch."

"Vending machines?" Thomas repeated, "Not a proper meal at one of the many establishments nearby?"

"Chips — I mean, crisps," Danny corrected himself without really needing to, his friend understanding perfectly well what he meant, "Will suit me just fine, honest."

This was, of course, when the Texan's stomach growled in protest. Cocking an eyebrow at the sound, "You sure about that?"

"Well, it's not like we can get back into the building once we've left." But the fight looked to be leaving the American at Thomas's growing stare. "Besides, what happens when our choir directors realize we're missing?"

"Oh, ye of little faith." The baritone spoke the words playfully, a memory distantly tugging at him at the sound. But, this isn't the spring concert and there's no danger in sight. No, this was only a baritone ensuring a bass took care of himself. A friend helping out a friend, even.

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 2:57pm (CST) [8:57pm GMT]**

"They're rather good aren't they?" Except, the way Isobel Crawley has allowed the comment fall into the air, it was clear she was aching for someone to disagree with her. She wanted someone to call up the challenge, wanted the chance to prove why this group before them was perfectly marvelous.

_"I've heard it said,_

_That people come into our lives for a reason,"_

The only person who would feel deigned to speak was more than 2,000 miles away. Closer to 3,000 miles, if Isobel remembered her geography correctly. Either way, no one was going to answer and the administrator didn't know how she felt about that.

_"Bringing something we must learn,"_

Perhaps a few years ago, it wouldn't have made a difference to the woman.

_"And we are led, to those who help us most to grow,_

_If we let them,"_

But, today... today it made a difference.

_"And we help them in return."_

So, when she eventually made her back home, she'd be sure to inform the friend of just that.

_"Well, I don't know if I believe that's true,_

_But I know I'm who I am today because I knew you."_

Maybe not in exactly those terms, but she'd be sure to relay the essential facts.

**_._**

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 4:23pm (CST) [10:23pm GMT]**

Gwen Dawson did not consider herself to be one of the exceptionally talented individuals at Downton Academy.

_"O clap your hands,_

_All ye people!"_

She considered herself to be a fairly competent singer, but not to the point in which she imagined herself deserving of this opportunity.

_"Shout unto God with a_

_Voice of triumph!"_

Didn't mean she wasn't ecstatic beyond all belief to be here.

_"For the battle has just begun,_

_But the victory is already won!"_

It also didn't mean that she wasn't going to give this week everything she had.

_"Raise up a song and sing out his praises!"_

_"Re,"_ With a focus akin to a laser, the choir of fifty students on stage directed their voices into funneling their power forth, the vibrant gospel quality of the song already fervently painting itself into their rhythm and sound, _"Joice! Rejoice!"_

The song hadn't been more than a minute in and the soprano knew she was hooked, with no complaints in sight.

_"Rejoice! Sing praises to the Lord, our God._

_Rejoice! There is power in the name of the Lord,"_

Personally, she couldn't wait to do the very same thing tomorrow.

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 6:31pm (CST) [12:31am GMT]**

"You mean to tell me you guys haven't been out for a night on the town?"

One minute, they'd been quietly making their way out of the building. The next, Clar and her friends had stumbled upon them and had unabashedly struck up conversation.

"Actually, we've not." Thank God for Elsie. After the butchering of their name, as well as little mishaps along the way — for starters, Thomas apparently had ducked out to get lunch with an American student and Charles did _not_ want to admit how worried he'd initially been about the baritone's absence — the man was ready to call it a night.

"Well, that's understandable," Liam chimed in, "After all, you haven't even gotten to compete yet!"

The choir director of Downton nodded at this, thankful at least one of the Americans got it.

"Yes, I'm afraid we'll just have to wait until at least tomorrow."

"Of course," Joylin nodded in wisdom before interjecting once more, "You're also more than welcome to join us Saturday evening! We plan on celebrating with our students, whatever happens tomorrow."

Ah, well, _this_ Charles had the perfect excuse for: "Oh, I'm afraid we've promised our students to have deep dish Saturday evening." Ignoring the sudden look his dear fiancée was now shooting him, "So, I believe we're all set for that evening."

"Deep dish pizza?" Elena lightly questioned, eyes flickering back to Clar. "This wouldn't happen to involve Lou Malnati's, would it?"

"It would, actually," Elsie spoke up before he had a chance to say otherwise. Which was decidedly traitorous of her, seeing as how they hadn't actually made a decision on that front. "Why?"

"Clar's been meaning to get everyone there since we landed," The brunette in question grinned broadly at Liam's statement, bowing her head as an unabashed indication that this was true. "So, we've actually been planning on hitting it up Saturday as well."

"'Hitting it up'?" "Oh, that's perfect! We'd love to join the fun!"

Why his wife— future-wife, that is, — was speaking so audaciously for them, Charles could only guess it was due to his own petulant response to the interaction. But, truly, it just wasn't fair of her to agree to a social outing that was undoubtedly going to be incredibly… American. Not when they hadn't discussed the matter through.

"Great!" "Perfect!" "So glad to hear it!" "Oh, good!"

"Elsie, Mr. Carson, you coming or not?" Beryl and the rest of them had already been quite a ways away, and the band director was not going to wait much longer.

"Right behind you, Beryl!"

However, before he could join his fiancée as she went to catch up to the rest of them, Charles found a hand tapping on his shoulder.

"Mr. Carson," Clar sheepishly smiled, "I've been meaning to ask: did you have a plan to take Mrs. Hughes anywhere special this week?"

He resisted the urge to bristle at her inquiry, suddenly recalling the plan he'd concocted only the night before. It'd been a lovely thought, but due to a lack of knowledge on his part, it couldn't be more than a thought at the moment.

"As a matter of fact, I'm not entirely sure of where to take her." The confession slipped out before he could think the matter through, its candour bringing a smile to the American.

"I understand."

"Mr. Carson? You coming?" "Clar, you planning on abandoning us _again_ for England?"

Glancing back at her friends with an exasperated warmth in her eyes, the brunette shook her head with more than a tinge of fondness.

"We'll talk tomorrow, Mr. Carson." And gesturing for him to catch up with the rest of his group, "I'll make sure that we get a chance to properly talk about this tomorrow."

Of that, he had no doubt.

_._

**Thursday, the 8th of August, 2019 - 9:47pm (CST) [3:47am GMT]**

This time, when they finally make it under the covers, they were unable to focus on anything other than the fact that it would be their turn tomorrow. It would be their chance to show the audience what their choir was capable of, their opportunity to perform on the stage as best as they could.

"Elsie?"

She heard his voice long before he said anything, knowing that his contemplations were buzzing about his brain much like her own.

"Yes, Charles?"

The blankets shifted alongside his concerns, the weight of the bed adjusting as he turned himself to face her as best as he could.

"Are you sure you're all right with my conducting tomorrow?"

_Daft man,_ "Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise, now would I?"

She was pleased to note that there was a faint smile taking hold of him at this, even if he wasn't totally convinced. And it was true: one of their many debates this summer, other than wedding planning and the likes, had been how to handle the conducting for this competition. It had been her who had made the suggestion, having even insisted on it after she thought it through more.

"Right." A beat. "And you're sure you'd tell me if you wanted the chance?"

Her hand snaked under the blanket to find his, not waiting for permission this time, "If I informed you that I haven't been surer of anything," Elsie had made sure to choose words similar to those from earlier moments of the spring, the ones in which a much more important topic had been broached. "Would that make a difference?"

He chuckled, remembering that proclamation all those months ago as well as the following parallel moments. It was wonderfully strange, this capability of theirs to delve into the past and stitch it into their present as though it were a gift from tradition to treasure again and again.

"I confess: it does make things a little less 'heavy'—"

"Oh, now you're just teasing the matter!"

Charles chuckled at this, unable to help himself, "I suppose I am. Though, truthfully, it does help."

"Good." Bringing his hand up to her lips, she blessed it with a chaste peck and one final remark, "If anything, remember this: you're not just any choir director," And finishing the line together with an affection chorus of, "You're _my_ choir director," they both let drowsy snickers and snorts start to cart them off to sleep.

This was undoubtedly one of the final moments of peace they'd be getting for at least the next twenty-four hours. And, perhaps, because of that, they probably should have spent the evening embraced as much as possible, possibly striving to connect much more than just hands.

However, in this instance, this act alone was perfect.

It was enough.

_._

**Author's Note:** Who else is ready for our part of the competition to _finally_ begin?


	5. Myrtle Curtains and the Uncertain

**Author's Note: **Here we go, ladies and gentlemen! After four weeks of waiting, we finally get to witness Downton in proper musical action once again!

**Warning: ****T-Rated **chapter, if only because of language and a mentioning of somewhat adult themes.

**Songs** [which a few should definitely look familiar ;D] :

"Sound Off" by Paul Rardin - look up "TMEA 2011 Men's Choir Sound Off"

"Dúlamán" by Michael McGlynn- look up "Anúna : Dúlamán - written by Michael McGlynn

"Dashing Away..." by John Rutter - look up "Dashing Away with the Smoothing "

"Water Night" by Eric Whitacre - look up "Eric Whitacre - Water Night"

"Vox Populi" by Giedrius Svilainis - look up "Vox Populi (Giedrius Svilainis) - Baylor University Concert Choir 2011"

"Hark! I Hear the Harps Eternal" arranged by Alice Parker - look up "Hark, I Hear the Harps Eternal - St. Olaf Choir"

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 7:39am (CST) [1:39pm GMT]**

There were really only three main types of choir students when it came to competitions. That's not to say every individual wasn't allowed to have their own reactions about the situation or to carry about their own distinct emotions; that was only to imply that almost all individuals could be categorized in one of the following three categories.

"I can't believe it's already Friday!"

There were the ones who were so excited about the event they couldn't help but jump about the proceedings before hand. Perhaps they didn't chatter the morning away, but they certainly couldn't help but brim with delight at the concept.

"Really? We _couldn't_ tell, Rose!"

There were also the ones who were so nervous about the event they couldn't help but snap at everyone and everything. Perhaps they wouldn't voice every irritant, but they certainly didn't have any problems with filling the air with a wariness that tended to only stir up an unnecessary atmosphere.

"Lighten up, O'Brien: just because you're scared like everyone else doesn't mean you have to be a bi—" "I do believe that'll be quite enough, Evelyn."

And there were the ones who had a strange mixture of both nerves and excitement. The ones who could look these feelings in the eye, see them for what they were, and still feel horribly off-balance by it all.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 9:12am (CST) [3:12pm GMT]**

Thomas had become invested in watching Dalhberry's performance from the moment he met Danny, but he could not have imagined the choir being so— _so_ hilarious! Really, choirs could have the occasional fun or sing an upbeat song at these events, but usually they got serious soon afterwards. Not for the men's choir of Dahlberry Academy.

_"Bass II, sound off!"_

This had been the part he'd been waiting for since the start of the song. "Sound Off" was a fascinating piece of music, officially set as a dialogue between a British aristocrat and a house party DJ. Said dialogue in the song was moderated by a first sergeant, which was why most of the song carried a playful back-and-forth cadence. But, even though a dialogue was set as its official purpose, Thomas always found the song to really focus on letting each section of a men's ensemble show off.

Which was why Danny and his fellow basses were now getting a chance to dazzle the crowd. The baritones and tenors had all their moment in the limelight, but now it was time for the basses of the ensemble to shine.

_"Hey, yeah, yeah,_

_What's up?"_

Already swaying back and forth on the risers as though they were all the most important people in the group — something Thomas could agree with in this instance — Danny and the rest of the young men in his section were greeted with a coolly uttered, _"Hello."_

This only brought the Bass IIs back into the limelight, as they took the rest of it from there:

_"The most ace in the place_

_When we're in your face_

_Making our case,_

_We're the bass!"_

Although he personally agreed more so with what the baritones of Dahlberry had to say for themselves earlier, Thomas found himself willing to let these singers state they were the 'most ace in the place'. Especially when they danced like that, swaggering in their spots and acting completely ridiculous in the case of a certain bass.

_"We just puttin' on a show_

_Where only we can go, down low,"_

Now, that was definitely true: basses could glide further down the vocal range than any other voice. And while that was a definite fact, it wasn't something people always acknowledged.

_"When we roll in the place on time_

_We're never tardy. All we throwin' is_

_A low house party!"_

With that lyric rumbling through the risers, all other sections on stage followed with a bewildered _"House party?"_, the words echoing about as though they couldn't fully commit to the idea of said house party.

Thankfully, the basses were there to make sure everyone on stage could be persuased.

_"Throw your hands in the air,_" Everyone on stage wildly turned to the basses, looking more bewildered than Mr. Carson did when he'd first met Mrs. Hughes. But, the lowest section of the ensemble persisted in repeating their relaxing message:

_"Just throw your hands in the air!"_

Awkwardly, as though they'd never done such an act before, all on the risers clumsily flung their hands up into the air for a brief second. This only caused both Thomas and Andy to dissolve into snickers, the pair unable to keep themselves collected even as the choir smoothly carried on.

_"We're singing one-two,_

_We're singing three-four,_

_Whole company down, up, one-two, sound off!"_

Oh, he couldn't wait to see Dahlberry really lose themselves to the song in a minute. Because it was going to be even more hilarious and Danny was never going to hear the end of this….

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 9:44am (CST) [3:44pm GMT]**

_"A 'nión mhín ó, sin_

_Anall na fir shúrí,"_

"No way!" Beryl can hear the frantic muttering spring up all around her the second those well-known lyrics hit. This rendition of "Dúlamán" was always quite recognizable, especially considering most of them had just performed it this last spring.

_"A mháithairin mhín_

_Ó, cuir na roithléan_

_Go dtí mé."_

"Relax," She commanded, resisting an upward glance toward the sky for patience. "You didn't sing that today. And when you did, it was already much more entertaining."

_"Dúlamán, dúlamán, dúlamán na_

_Binne buí, dúlamán na,_

_Binne buí Gaelach!"_

Not to say that the choir before her wasn't good; the raven-haired beauty taking the current solo did an excellent job of running through the words, especially for an American. Still, she could tell that even though the choir's energy was fantastic, they didn't look to fully know just what they were singing about.

And _that _wouldn't help them, not one bit.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:27am (CST) [4:27pm GMT]**

"It's time," Elsie calmly informed him when she saw the next choir approach the stage. Charles stiffened imperceptibly, surprised that he hadn't realized that fact himself. But, this is why they were a team and not just two colleagues working in the same department.

Glancing at the students nearby, he took in the fact that they really did look ready. They didn't look fully prepared per se, nobody truly ever did at these sorts of events. But they did look ready to give it their best shot. Still, rousing them into action did bring about more nerves than he'd intended. Something that he himself began to acutely feel the further they slipped into the depths of Lane Tech and closer toward the backstage area of the auditorium. They weren't at the backstage entrance just yet, but they were now only a few feet away from a moment that was undoubtedly going to define this trip.

"If anything else, remember this," His fiancée began to murmur to him as they mentally prepared to take on the next fifteen minutes, making sure she had his attention.

"Yes?"

Beaming at him, with a smile brighter than a spotlight: "You're not just any choir director. You're _my _choir director."

And then, ignoring the hushed attention of their students, she stepped on her tiptoes to bestow upon him a chaste peck on the lips. This had nearly broken their charges' concentration — half of the teens wanting to squeal at the sight while the other half was purely embarrassed to have witnessed it.

But, the action served its purpose well: not only did the director of Downton look far more at peace with the whole situation, their students were sufficiently distracted from their original concerns.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:31am (CST) [4:31pm GMT]**

"Did the announcer say that right? Are they really called _Downton_?" Daniel "Danny" Boretsky ignored his fellow singers and friends with a practiced ease, fixedly watching Thomas and his choir walk onto the stage. On and on they went, being really mean about this particular choir. "What a _stupid_ name."

A sarcastic chuckled followed that, interjecting, "Don't tell me — they're going to invite us all to _tea_ after we win!"

Maybe it was the size — twenty or so kids on stage wasn't really awe-inspiring when only a hundred had stood there moments before. Maybe, it was the fact that he himself had been caught with one of "those Downton kids" only yesterday, maybe that's why his supposed friends were giving him a hard time. After all, "fraternizing with the enemy" was against the code.

"Their director looks like a penguin in that suit!"

_Just shut up for once. _Dahlberry's own director, a very aged Mr. Bennett, looked like a walrus on his best days. And, that was only on his best days. Danny didn't even care to describe the appearance of the man when that wasn't the case.

Still, even though his classmates continued to incessantly went on about how small the group was — "I can't believe there's only twenty-five of them! Oh, wait, with a name like 'Downton' I can!" — he found he didn't care. From what Thomas had mentioned yesterday, this choir was a "decent bunch". Which, somehow, Danny had a feeling that the phrase probably translated into something more like "rad beyond belief".

Anyway, the choir director — Mr. Carter or Carson, one of those really British names — was raising his hands, signaling something to the group. At his gesture, a pretty brunette brought a pitch-pipe to her lips and blew into the instrument, the starting pitch of the song now making itself clear to all listening. But, before the choir started anything, it looked like the director was saying something to his students — something that brought out a lot of determined faces and even a few faint grins. Danny wondered what had been said, but found he hadn't anytime to think it through because—

"'_Twas on a Monday morning,_

_And there I saw my darling,"_

At the empowering sound that shot out from the guys in the ensemble, Danny snorted to himself as his fellow singers and supposed friends finally shut themselves up. Before the first lyric had finished, it was totally obvious that the choir on stage didn't care about their size or how their name might have sounded to strangers. No, all they seemed to care about was doing the best job they could.

"_She looked so neat and charming_

_In every high degree!"_

Eyes dancing with delight, their voices all portraying the thrill of joy the song apparently held, each member of the choir looked fully engaged. To the point where Danny felt completely comfortable with sitting back, closing his eyes, and letting the voice of each and every singer from Downton have all of his focus.

"_She looked so neat and nimble-o,_

_A-washing of her linen-o,"_

The song was really endearing, and he felt comfortable in admitting that. He could also admit that it sounded like a British piece, and that it was most likely the song they were performing for the "composition from the country of the competing choir" portion.

"_Dashing away with the smoothing iron,_

_Dashing away with the smoothing iron,_

_Dashing away with the smoothing iron_

_She stole my heart away!"_

Opening his eyes, he smiled at the lyric. It certainly was accurate, especially when it came to a baritone on stage...

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:32am (CST) [4:32pm GMT]**

Elsie had watched her fiancé whisper an encouraging, "For Mrs. Hughes," to everyone as she stood behind the myrtle curtains hiding her from the crowd. And as her heart swelled at the sight of him starting to conduct this song — never in the previous fall semester would she have ever imagined witnessing this sight — she couldn't help but close her eyes and blissfully let the song take over all of her senses.

Within the waves of sound grew cascades of volume. As the women maintained the blend of resonance, a harmony flowed forth that held a shifting blend of dynamics. The altos brought together the smoothing iron, the sopranos breathed life into the routine of that life itself, whilst the young men's sections delved into conveying the words with the kindest of spirit.

This was the song that started it all. The song that allowed their program to truly grew into a new direction and for their teachers to shift down a new path. The song that gave them all a chance to grow in beautiful directions and push themselves much further than they could have imagined.

They would do absolute justice to it.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:34am (CST) [4:34pm GMT]**

"'_Twas on a Sunday morning!_

_And there I saw my darling!"_

Cindy Paisley had been enamoured with the heartwarming piece from the moment that Mary Crawley had given the choir the pitch. And now that the enchanting song was fervently building into the _coda_, climbing into the last day of the lyrics, she couldn't help the twinkle she carried at the sight.

"_She looked so neat and charming_

_In every high degree!" _The sopranos and tenors on stage held onto the touching melody faithfully as the rest of the ensemble swept into a dazzling _crescendo_, every section accentuating the other quite fabulously.

"_She looked so neat and nimble-o," _Cindy watched in great admiration at the choir reached a captivating _forte _of sound, elongating the chords out as much as the notes would go. This may only the beginning for them, the first of three songs, but she already knew they were worthy competition and quite talented. "_A-wearing of her linen-o,"_

Holding her breath unintentionally, the blonde American enthusiastically observed how the last notes of that lyric sailed gracefully through the air, controlled with a precision not many singers their age had.

"_Dashing away with the smoothing iron," _The girls on stage sweetly began to finish the song, the guys following with a rousing, "_Dashing away with the smoothing iron," _with each voice came together for one final grand _ritardando _of "_Dashing away with the smoothing iron,"_

She found herself leaning forward unconsciously, captivated by far even if she already knew what the next words would be. And when that delightful _mezzo-piano _whisper nicely contrasted with the fantastic _forte _of before, "_She stole my heart away!"_, she knew they had her full admiration.

Jumping to her feet, Cindy unabashedly gave her loudest cheers for the performing choir at hand.

And she was certainly not the only one.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:36am (CST) [4:36pm GMT]**

For a measly choir of only twenty-four, they now held the approval of hundreds in the audience. And though their director remained professionally gratuitous in face of the praise they now swam in, he did let a beam of approval show itself — one that signaled they did exceptionally well.

After gesturing to the choir appreciatively, looking out into the crowd and silently imploring the audience to give his students one last moment of approval before the next piece, Charles spared a glance to the backstage area. Even though the myrtle-green curtains hid her mostly from sight, he had caught a glimpse and knew exactly where his fiancée stood.

He only wished she could stand right by his side throughout this. That he had to the only one officially directing the choirs was unusually disheartening this time, even if it made sense. He would have settled for the both of them being on stage, though it would never happen. Two choir conductors on stage would be like too many cooks in the kitchen; something that sweet in sentiment but downright unnecessary.

Of course, whether she was a few feet away or not, she was essentially a part of the performance. If it weren't for her, they wouldn't be here today. Downton would never have discovered the wonders of _a cappella _music, Mrs. Butte would most likely still be teaching at the school, and he would have missed out on the chance to find another sort of happiness for himself — the type of happiness that had come with understanding and developing their love for one another. So, that was a consolation.

_Right. No time like the present. _Tenderly tucking away his contemplations, Charles took note of the audience's excitement respectfully dying down. And, turning back to his students, readjusting his stance so that his awareness remained solely with the choir before them, he signaled to Mary to play the next pitch.

"_Night with the eyes_

_Of a horse that trembles in the night."_

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:38am (CST) [4:38pm GMT]**

In the spring of 2019, elation had swept over the courtyard of Downton Academy when this chilling finale piece had been performed. A revitalizing air poured with it the sense of renewal — the feeling that came when a burgeoning cloudburst washed away all the burdening muck of the world.

Yet, within the auditorium of one Lane Tech, that initial cascade was being amplified into a torrent. The auditorium's microphones — carefully placed to assist the sound of any choir, regardless of size — were gradually expanding the shower of noise into a deluge of harmony.

"_Eyes!" _Lightning was too weak a term for the thunderbolts arcing over the auditorium's seats, the space rumbling with the power of a downpour. "_Eyes of shadow water!"_

The incoming gale let up for a moment with a placid, "_Eyes,"_ and a hypnotic drizzle of "_Eyes of well water," _now scattering across the crowd. After mere seconds of a cloudy and hushed, "_Eyes of dream water," _rippling through the audience, the listeners were given another tantalizing glimpse of what was next.

"_Silence and solitude,"_

Much like the calm before the cloudburst, the atmosphere gradually shifted. There was no storm crackling overhead with the lyrics of the "_Two little animals moon-led,"_. Nor was there a vocal hailstorm throughout the misty whispers that those two animals, "_Drink in your eyes." _For that matter, it took yet another bubbling _crescendo _— one that crept through the fervently gushing "_Drink in those waters," _— to properly illustrate that there was an impending storm.

And what a storm it would be, too...

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:39am (CST) [4:39pm GMT]**

"_If you open your eyes,"_

Blue irises followed the command without question, having welled up over the sensation that came with standing in the eye of this storm.

"_Night opens_

_Doors of musk."_

To have conducted this fierce torrent months prior had been one of the most rewarding experiences to date. However, watching this was as rewarding, if not more so. Her heart soared into the depths of these vociferous clouds as they sounded once more, watching as his hands freely gave themselves over these whirling chords and thundering voices.

"_The secret kingdom of the water opens_

_Flowing from the center of the night."_

Staring once more at her future husband, Elsie knew the level of dedication he wielded was perfect for this performance. That, contrary to his initial belief, he was in fact the only person she entrusted with the task of conducting this competition, apart from herself, of course. And, furthermore, discreetly watching from her spot backstage, she knew he had finally allowed himself to dive into the piece and conduct it as it should be.

"_And if you close your eyes,"_

Charles' conducting style was typically controlled with such precision, filled with such perfection that she almost found it to be too rigid at times. Rarely did he let the music truly overtake him, never allowing himself to be lost in the sound. And though he never conducted quite as mechanically as some of her prior directors, Elsie's heart was bursting with delight that his currently movements were far more free-flowing than ever before — something "Water Night" demanded.

"_A river,_

_A silent and beautiful current,"_

No matter what else happened, she was content with their performance. Even if there was a slip in the chords, even if the mics stopped working, even if they didn't get to compete tomorrow, she would remain proud.

"_Fills you from within._

_Flows forward," "Forward."_

In her eyes, they were winners.

"_Darkens you."_

And it hardly mattered what others thought; she knew them to be absolutely brilliant.

"_Night brings its wetness_

_To beaches in your soul."_

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:41am (CST) [4:41pm GMT]**

"What do you think they're gonna do next, Danny? Did your friend say anything yesterday?" "Damn, they're good." "Did you know anything about this, Danny?"

The bass resisted the urge to snort at the change in attitude. For now, the surrounding mumbles and whispers were those that stemmed from wonderment.

_So much for Downton being "stupid"._

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 10:41am (CST) [4:41pm GMT]**

If the crowds swarming the auditorium today thought "Water Night" and "Dashing" were worthy of note, they had not taken into consideration the third piece.

_"Vox Populi!"_ The booming sound snatched unhesitatingly, many in the crowd flinching at the sound.

_"Vox Dei!" "Dei!" _

The twenty-four voices pouring forth hardly needed the microphones to convey the voice of the people.

_"Vox Populi!"_

But, it _did_ help.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 11:57am (CST) [5:57pm GMT]**

_"Hark! I hear the harps eternal,_

_Ringing on the farther shore!"_

After Downton's fantastic performance only an hour ago, Beryl Patmore had expected her fellow non-musically inclined chaperones to want to step away from the auditorium and take a break from the whole experience. Why would they be interested in watching the show for the sake of the show? Especially when the ten _a cappella _choirs that would competing tomorrow wouldn't be announced for at least another five hours.

_"As I near those swollen waters,_

_With a deep and solemn roar,"_

Yet, when she had voiced the suggestion to leave the competition for at least a few hours — something that Elsie and Charles had already explicitly said was perfectly fine — she'd received very adamant refusals to follow through with that plan.

_"Hallelujah!" Hallelujah, Glory!"_

_"Hallelujah," "Praise the Lord!"_

And while she could somewhat understand that perspective, now realizing that none of the other chaperones had ever been on such an adventure, that didn't mean she wasn't touched. Especially when Albert had been the first to say "No, thank you!" to the suggestion, stating that he wanted to support the music department in every way he could.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 2:21pm (CST) [8:21pm GMT]**

Much as Elsie Hughes would rather go several hours without eating in the name of witnessing all the other performing choirs, Charles Carson had been adamant that she obtain at least a snack from the vending machines. He himself had led by example by slipping out half an hour ago and presenting her the empty wrapper of a snack bar upon returning. The message was clear: _Even I will walk away a choral event in order to take care of myself. And you know I **loathe** missing any moment of this. _

So by the time her stomach started to growl with every breath she took, he was only looking at the empty wrapper with a very obvious attitude in his demeanour. To the point where she silently took the cue at the appropriate moment, gracefully rising out of her seat the moment applause had sounded and discreetly slipping out of the auditorium.

"Okay, but Queensboro was _amazing _with 'Hallelujah'! I actually cried and I _never _cry at these things!"

Now, she was making her way down the halls of Lane and unintentionally eavesdropping on various conversations that echoed from the restrooms, the fountains, and, of course, the vending machines tucked away on the ground floor.

"Yeah, they were pretty decent. _But_, I personally think Dahlberry's version of 'Find Me Somebody To Love' was by far the best song of the show! Those basses were _so _good with both that and 'Sound Off'!"

It had been quite encouraging to hear to that praise, even if the competitor in her wanted Dahlberry and Queensboro to not sound _quite_ that brilliant.

"Um, were you not there when Pitches Be Cray did 'Go The Distance' _and _'The Climb' in one go?"

_That _had been an interesting combination of a Disney song and a pop medley, one that was made all the more fascinating when she saw how appalled Charles had been upon hearing it. In fact, she was almost tempted to find the sheet music for that, if only so as to tease him for the next time they decide to buy new music.

"Yeah, they were pretty good. But, really, Downtown—"

She nearly stumbled at the sound of her own school being mentioned, keeping a calm and collected to pace to her step even as she neared this particular conversation. Six students were milling about the vending machines, crisp and cookie bags being opened as they eagerly talked amongst themselves. And though she was rather tempted to correct the innocent mistake, the choir teacher was saved by one of the other teens quickly interjecting that, "It was pronounced _Downton_, didn't you hear?"

The chastised singer blushed before picking up the pace again, "Sorry. When _Downton_ did 'Water Night', it was _awesome_. Like, all three songs were great, but that one was _awesome._"

Elsie managed to primly walk past the chattering students and up to the vending machine, biting back her pleased smile at the sound of the unadulterated praise. It only figured her students, who were worrying themselves to death about how they did, would be receiving compliments from strangers.

"Yeah, that was cool. And that was _such _an _adorable _song that started them off, the one with the iron!" Now blushing at the praise, feeling a bit strange to hear about their performance from this perspective, Elsie focused on scouring the options for the most filling snack.

"Speaking of Downton, did anyone catch the official name of that third song? It gave me _chills _from the start!"

"Vox Populi." The choir teacher helpfully supplied as she fed the vending machine the appropriate cash. The small group looked up, surprised they were overheard.

"Thank you!" Then, a few seconds later, a bolder teen put forth a calculated thought: "You wouldn't happen to be with Downton, would you?"

Now her smile trickled into a bit of a smirk, the woman debating on whether or not she should be intentionally vague or merely forthcoming.

"I am with Downton, yes." As much as Elsie wanted to tease them by being unusually cryptic, she figured a simple response would suffice. This, interestingly enough, got everyone in the group turning to her excitedly.

"Please pass on our compliments!" "You guys were _so _good!" "If you don't get into the Top Ten tomorrow, I'd be surprised!"

"Thank you. And, I'll be sure to do so." Snack in hand, she decided to give the group some breathing space by heading back toward the auditorium. But, seeing as how she couldn't bring herself to eat the snack whilst inside said auditorium, Elsie loitered about the hallways in curiosity.

Interestingly enough, she had heard there was a courtyard here, too. And, wondering what it looked like, she began to skim the ground floor for any sign of it. Besides, spending a few minutes in search of it would give her some time to remember that, as talented as her students had proved themselves to be today, nothing was guaranteed. Therefore, as much as she'd like to see them on stage tomorrow as part of the final ten competing _a cappella _choirs, she knew better than to let that praise go to her head.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 5:39pm (CST) [11:39pm GMT]**

This was it. The _real _test.

The part in which practically everyone, whether they admitted it or not, was invested in everything that happened next.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Deanna Torres profusely started off, keeping a light-hearted air, "Haven't these last two days been just astonishing?"

The resounding applause that came at her question brought a grin to her face, the woman beaming at the appreciation filling the room.

"And won't it be just as astonishing to watch the final choirs compete tomorrow?" This time, the shrieks and cheers carried with them hints of nerves as the audience was getting caught in the excitement. "As you may already know, all competing choirs of the last two days have been scored and ranked accordingly. Tomorrow morning, the top ten accompaniment-based choirs will perform. In the afternoon, the top ten _a cappella _choirs will follow.

"Now, of course, it was difficult to make these decisions. Each choir that performed beautifully, regardless of whether or not they made it into the top ten for their respective category. And we hope that all who performed this time around will come back when we host the next round of this competition in the Los Angeles county!"

Another roar of applause came forth, but it was tainted with impatience this time.

"I know, I know," Deanna confessed with a charisma that kept the tension at bay, at least for the moment. "What you'd rather me all do now is announce the choirs that will be competing tomorrow," She chuckled at the renewed ovation, "Well, if you insist..."

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 5:41pm (CST) [11:41pm GMT]**

Downton Academy had sat through ever so patiently through the announcement of who would be the competing accompaniment-based choirs. They had even managed to remain calm and refined as Deanna Torres continued to build suspense by interjecting the occasional description of why each choir had made it into this round.

But now, "Of course, as with the accompaniment-based choirs, we will not be announcing the list by ranking. We will still be sticking with the alphabetical list of the top ten _a cappella _choirs and ask that if you'd like to know your rank, you wait until after tomorrow's events have concluded."

Well, the good news was that Downton would be announced fairly early, _if _they had made it into the top ten. If they didn't make it, they'd deal with that later. But, as of now, there was a chance.

"... now, as some of you may have recalled, the Women's Ensemble of Aucoin Academy..."

"... of course, 'Pitches Be Cray' from Becker's Prep..."

"... we would be remiss if we didn't acknowledge the lively technique of the Men's Choir of Dahlberry Academy..."

"... to say that Domoto Senior High School, traveling all the way from Japan just for this..."

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 5:41pm (CST) [11:41pm GMT]**

Her lip may have been bleeding by this point, but she was past the point of caring.

"... it gives me great pleasure to announce that Donovan & Nielsen Tech have also joined..."

Gripping Charles' hand in the shadows afforded to them, Elsie found herself praying that they would be next. When Deanna had jumped straight to Domoto, she found herself tensing more than she had in years. Old muscles that had been neglected for quite a few decades were now flaring up with pain, a sense of suspense gripping every inch of her.

"Now, fifth in our line-up for tomorrow..."

The choir teacher leaned forward, knowing her breath support would suffer from this posture and found herself not giving a damn. Perhaps she was more invested than she should be, but she had a personal commitment to this choir. These students had grown in more ways than she could count these last ten months, rising to several occasions that teenagers shouldn't have to deal with. But they did, and they pushed themselves to impossible heights, and if she didn't get the answer she wanted she'd still be damn proud of them, she just might have to talk to Deanna. Find out exactly what went wrong so that they'd be even better the next time.

"Journeying from a fair distance," Still not daring to hope, "And stealing our hearts away from the very start, I'm pleased to say that Downton Academy will be competing tomorrow!"

They did it! They actually made it to the top ten!

Finding herself on her feet, euphoria careening through her voice as she let out her approval ring forth, Elsie found herself pulling Charles into one of their most invigorating kisses to date. Spurred on by the triumph of the day, surrounded by an ocean of approving roars and thrilled plaudits, she couldn't bring herself to care who saw this moment.

Furthermore, judging from the fact that her fiancé was deepening this connection, even daring to twirl her a bit around in the aisle, he was right there with her.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 5:45pm (CST) [11:45pm GMT]**

The Women's Ensemble of Aucoin Academy, Tennessee.

"Pitches Be Cray" from Becker's Prep, Minnesota.

The Men's Choir of Dahlberry Academy, Texas.

The Chamber Chorus of Domoto Senior High School, Japan.

The Traveling Choir of Donovan & Nielsen Tech, South Dakota.

The Competition Choir of Downton Academy, England.

The Bass Choir of Elkund & Martinsson's School of Music, Sweden.

"Bell Street Trills" from Henderson High, California.

"Queensboro Harmonizers" from Kingfisher Prep, New York.

"Fermata Utah" from Rhea High, Utah.

These would be the ten _a cappella _choirs competing tomorrow. The ten _a cappella _groups determined to win it all and walk away as the first place choir.

For, unlike today's part of the competition, tomorrow's would be officially announced by rank.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 6:17pm (CST) [12:17am GMT]**

Charles should have known that a lack of accomplishment for Miss Magnussen's choir — her choir had done well enough in his opinion, but they were not in the top ten — wasn't going to deter the woman from sticking to her original promise.

"Mr. Carson!" He was thankful she stuck to the formality, even if it sounded a bit bizarre after the last thirty minutes of ecstasy. "Seeing as how we were cut off from our little chat yesterday, I wanted to find out if you've had any more thoughts on the subject."

Discreetly glancing about and realizing that there would be no help — and no eavesdroppers, for that matter — in sight, Charles capitulated to this conversation with an ease he hadn't anticipated.

"I have not, Miss Magnussen."

"Please, call me Clar or Clarissa. Miss Magnussen is for my students." She lightly remarked, a playful twinkle coming off her face. "But, no worries: I'm more than happy to continue calling you Mr. Carson."

"Yes, well, Clarissa," Even with permission the whole matter felt a bit gaudy, inappropriate even. Though, he did appreciate her sticking to his surname instead of trying to force more familiarity into the conversation. "Seeing as how this is my first time in the city, I wouldn't know where to start."

Charles shouldn't have given her such a lead by reminding her of that fact; the woman's face immediately lit up, her eyes sparkling with glee as a delighted grin broke out about her face.

"Then, please, allow me to make at least one suggestion. I would be remiss in my duties as a Chicagoan if I didn't do at least that." It was playfully spoken, but she looked quite serious. "Does Mrs. Hughes like anything in particular?"

_Heights. _It was a strange thing to think of, seeing as how he'd normally conjure up the image of Elsie floating about in a thunderstorm when it came to what she liked. But, being at the top of that building, standing out on the glass and watching that newfound excitement take over her, as well as _that_ picture that tourist had taken of them... heights were the only thing coming to mind.

"'Heights', eh?" Charles blinked, not realizing he'd spoken the word aloud. "I can get that."

"Yes, well, at least, once she remembers she likes them, that is." Embarrassed, he corrected the woman without thinking, the habit that came with teaching deeply instilled with him.

"Well, now you'll have to tell me more about that!" Clar cheerfully informed the man, "I'm the one who's normally cryptic, after all."

Furrowing his eyebrow at the response, knowing that the woman was not going to change the subject, the choir director found himself at a loss. On one hand, he could humour her for a change and give the truth away by sharing that delightful moment with another soul. On the other hand, he could keep that cherished memory to himself and keep it far from another prying American.

"Well," Somehow, she didn't really strike him a pryer. Rather, the American struck him as someone who took life rather seriously underneath that teasing attitude. "Now that you mention it,"

And so, he found himself revealing the tale. Describing what had happened when they had set about the Skydeck, the man began to unveil just how Elsie loved heights. And when Clar continued to prove herself worthy of his tale — having devoted all of her attention to listening to the story, being a respectful audience member who seemed genuinely touched by the story — he even found himself reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. For, if nothing else, she'd enjoy this picture from that moment.

He never cared for images taken from phones or for phones in general, finding them to fail in capturing the moments most important. In fact, ever since cell phones had started to make a dreaded appearance in his classroom, his distaste for the device expounded without much effort. This picture was one of the rare exceptions. It had been one of the additional pictures the man had taken, and it was by far his favourite.

The sun, quite out of sight at the time this had been taken, managed to exquisitely frame them both as though they were in a film. A glorious blending of blues - aquamarine, cyan, azure, and more — brought an ethereal air to the picture, only adding to the fairytale atmosphere at hand.

This was the moment that Elsie had pulled him into that tender kiss in front of the crowd, the moment in which they had forgotten the world existed. The moment time legitimately stopped for them both, the moment that would be theirs to cherish always, the moment where the pair carried absolutely no regrets. With her arms having contently wrapped themselves around his neck, his having lovingly encompassed her waist, this was a moment he would never forget.

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 6:20pm (CST) [12:20am GMT]**

The American unwittingly gaped at the photo, stunned by the level of intimacy and sweet devotion before her. Gazing back at the man who revealed it to her, finding it incredibly hard to believe this was the same man in the picture, she blankly nodded to herself, quite dumbstruck. And, turning to give him some privacy, knowing that it took a lot to show that sort of picture to an acquaintance, she blinked back some tears before catching sight of, "Mrs. Hughes!"

Even though she'd heard the full story — that Mrs. Hughes was technically to be called Miss Hughes, based off her marital status — Clar found it was too cute a sentiment to protest. And, so, even though Liam, Joylin and even Elena shot her odd looks for it, she still found herself addressing the Scottish choir teacher as such.

"Everything all right?" _Damn it, _she still had tears in her eyes and she could only imagine what she looked to the outside world.

"Of course it is!" Clar reassured the approaching woman, faking a sneeze so as to discreetly wipe her eyes. "Sorry about that, my allergies must be kicking up."

"Oh, I do not envy that," Mrs. Hughes remarked, looking to let this go for now. "Mr. Carson, I've been informed to let you know that the students are ready to start heading back to the hotel."

The American found herself looking back at the choir director, hoping that he wouldn't scurry away now that he had the perfect reason to. It totally made sense if he did: she was a private person herself and would have had the urge to bolt away if she'd revealed such a photo to an acquaintance. But she hoped he'd stick around. At least long enough for her to tell him where to take his fiancée.

"Thank you for informing me, Mrs. Hughes." He didn't look to want to leave just yet, his hesitation encouraging Clar's optimism.

"Right." Mrs. Hughes continued to speak, a bit oblivious to her fiancé's hesitation in light of the whirlwind of emotions they were all experiencing. "I don't know about you, but I think I'm ready to celebrate a little."

Mr. Carson nodded a bit, but remained where he was, "I'll be right behind you." Clar straightened up, still having not anticipated this sort of reaction. "I only want to reassure Miss Magnussen that today's results should not deter her from competing in the future."

_Why is he calling me Miss Magnussen again? _She tiredly thought to herself, finding no legitimate reason to protest if it meant the choir director was going to stay instead of scurry off. Still, she wasn't the only one with a clear reaction: it also looked like Mrs. Hughes was surprised by something the choir director had said.

"I'll leave you to it then," Mrs. Hughes continued to say, "And, please remember, Clar," _At least someone does what I ask and calls me by my first name! _"There's no shame in what your choir accomplished this week. They were quite commendable."

"Thank you." She meant that gratitude, really. Thankfully, the fellow choir teacher understood. And, nodding faintly for a moment before thinking something over, the Scottish woman took her leave.

"In all seriousness, Clarissa, " Mr. Carson began once his fiancée and colleague had stepped away. But, the American was already holding a hand up in protest, very much uninterested in any sympathy he had to offer — even if he was now addressing her by her first name.

"Please, Mr. Carson, just because I'm experiencing my own personal San Antonio does not mean you need to reassure me. It just means I understand a former director of mine more." And mentally batting away both the pleasant and unpleasant memories that came with that particular adventure, she forced herself to remember where she was. "But, you've no idea what I'm talking about and San Antonio is neither here nor there. So, instead, I'd much rather tell you where you should take Mrs. Hughes because I know exactly where to go."

"Really?" The man looked as though he'd already had an idea or two, but she was thankful he would still hear her out. Chances were her suggestion was already on his list. But, on the very off-chance this wasn't already the case, she wanted to make the recommendation.

"Really. I know just the place." And, discreetly leaning in, Clarissa Magnussen did what she did best: she mumbled the suggestion in such a faint manner that only the choir director could hear it. But he did hear the suggestion, she made sure of that.

"Mr. Carson, are you going to take all day or can we go celebrate now?" A giddy redheaded woman loudly put the question to the pair, her accent informing the American that this was one of the individuals who currently chaperoned for Downton. Clar herself held back a snort at the situation, recognizing that the redhead was undoubtedly thrilled Downton made it into tomorrow's competition and wanted to get a move on with celebrating. It made sense: with that kind of thrill came an impatience only matched by toddlers. She ought to know, she's felt it on many occasion, especially over the last few decades.

"I'm quite sorry," The American held up another hand to protest his second apology, shaking her head with a faint smile.

"Chaperones. I understand." Resisting the urge to continue conversation, knowing that she could easily overstep boundaries without meaning to and recognizing that the choir director needed to be with his students and chaperones. "Please, go have fun and enjoy your night, Mr. Carson."

He nodded so seriously she had to refrain from face-palming, knowing that the man wasn't really going to have fun tonight. And, turning away so that he wouldn't have yet another reason to procrastinate the celebrations, the American made her way to one of the side entrances of Lane. This was where she knew her friends would be waiting and this is where she needed to be now. Liam's choir was one of the final ten for _a cappella_, so she wanted to congratulate him if nothing else.

"Clar," She stumbled unintentionally at being addressed again, nearly tripping over her feet at the sound of her name spoken like that. "Your choir did well today. Really."

Unable to face him, not wanting to confess today had her feel really inadequate as a director and that _that _inadequacy had probably been why they didn't succeed today, the American nodded silently. Later, when all was said and done, she'd give herself a moment to cry and recognize that the world wasn't over just because her choir didn't officially succeed today. But, right now, she needed a minute to process it.

Still, she was a Midwesterner, even if she grew up in Chicago. Therefore, manners and authentic gratuity drew from her lips a quiet, "Thank you, Mr. Carson." But, before she could continue to shift the mood by complimenting him one his own triumph today, the man was speaking once again:

"No, Clarissa. Thank you."

_._

**Friday, the 9th of August, 2019 - 9:35pm (CST) [3:35am GMT]**

He had wanted to flop onto the bed and collapse where he lay — not having a care in the world about whether or not it was dignified. Socializing with other directors, competing in itself, Charles Carson was down for the count and he knew it. They'd done well today, well enough that he knew his old mentor would have been quite proud of him. And that knowledge, combined with the fact that he could now publicly share his joy with his future wife, was enough to send him down the primrose path of contented sleep.

But, seeing as how his fiancée was still checking in on the various students, he couldn't get a head start on obtaining rest. Instead, the man plopped into the only arm chair of the room, waiting patiently for his woman. Occasionally drifting off into slumber, it was only once he heard the tell-tale muffled click of heels on carpet and eventual ding of a hotel key being entered that he knew bed was just a few minutes away.

"Everyone's settled in for the night, but I doubt they'll be going to sleep anytime soon." Elsie confessed, looking far too worn out even as she continued to ask, "Should I go out in another thirty minutes or so and check in again?"

"No, let's go to bed. They're all smart and capable, and we won't be competing again till the afternoon." Yet, even though he had faith in his students, he didn't have faith in his current capabilities of getting out of this wonderfully comfortable chair.

"You will be joining me, won't you?"

It wasn't nearly as promiscuous as it sounded; Elsie just thought he looked like he'd pass out if he stayed in that chair for much longer. And she was absolutely right — he'd be out in just a few seconds, now that she was back.

"No worries, I'll get there eventually." She softly chuckled at this, stepping up to him and holding out both her hands to help him to his feet. Although Charles Carson was far too tall and a mite too heavy for her to drag him out of the chair, they did give it their best shot. The result, however, had not been their personal best: Somehow, they'd bungled the attempt and had the two of them tripping over themselves for a second time that week. But, at least, they managed to fall onto the bed side by side. Still, as they weakly laughed in one another's arms — the pair as exhausted as that first night — she realized one final snag in their plan. It was only a snag and not a real issue at this point, but it was also worthy of note.

"We really ought to have the outing settled before tomorrow if we want to go anywhere Sunday." He groaned a little at her reminder, having forgotten about that in all the excitement of the day.

"I feel a bit guilty about that," Heaving a sigh of defeat out of his lungs, the man looked away briefly in consternation. "I've tried out my ideas on the students, and though they did seem somewhat interested I couldn't fire up any genuine enthusiasm." Yes, unfortunately, that had been partially her fault as well as the fault of the other chaperones. In their haste to make up for Wednesday's blunders, they'd intermittently flung ideas at the students over the course of yesterday and today. In retrospect, they really ought to have left the matter alone. "So, I wonder if we should just settle for a day by Lake Michigan."

Elsie blinked, having not realized he'd actually noticed — if indeed it was because of her little postcard that he'd gotten the idea. Seeing as how the pair had been running in and out of this room for the last twenty-four hours without stopping, there had been no legitimate chance to take note of the postcard, not as far as she could tell. Of course, he could have gotten the idea himself and simply come to the conclusion on his own — her man was quite capable in his own right.

"I know it's a defeat, but what do you think?"

Turning to lay on her back, "That might work." And, closing her eyes, willing his imagination to come forth and soothe her thoughts about tomorrow away, "Tell me more about your plan."

He smiled, more than happy to do so: "We could take a bus. It'd only be $5 per student to go there and back — which might be a lot for some of them, but I'm willing to help anyone who can't afford it. Of course, that is if _you _think it's a good idea…." Knowing that he was now earnestly looking at her, with quite possibly those puppy dog eyes she wouldn't be able to resist right now, she could only release a satisfied sigh at this.

"It sounds perfect." Reaching out a hand to tiredly caress him, a weary smile on her lips as irises opened to reassure him he did well, "I think the students will love it." Because, much as she had wanted a day by the beach, she hadn't been planning on forcing it on them all. And, so, the woman had found herself willing to go anywhere in this wonderful city — the zoo, one of the museums, a lovely restaurant — so long as it meant they were all enjoying themselves.

"Good."

Finding enough energy within her to give him a comforting peck on the cheek, Elsie closed her eyes for a moment longer. She really wasn't joking about having no energy; she was only a minute from knocking out. The only issue with that was that she was still fully clothed and would thoroughly regret knocking out in the morning. The clothes she'd worn throughout the day, the navy blue slacks with a pretty cotton button-up, were constraining enough she'd pinch a nerve or something if she remained in them much longer.

And while the woman did have a plan, it'd definitely be pushing the boundaries of their relationship.

"Charles," Beginning this particular subject may prove to be awkward, as necessary as it was. But, if she took into consideration that they were engaged to be married, and that she could trust her fiancé with practically anything, it made the whole thing a little easier.

"Yes, Elsie?"

Waiting a moment, needing to see if she had the energy to do this alone, she found her body was past the point of giving out on her. _Well, that settles it,_ the choir teacher grimly thought, hoping her next request wouldn't be too much too soon for them.

"I can barely move." Something she figured he felt similarly about. "But, I know I'll regret sleeping in my clothes." Feeling him begin to tense, the man trying to guess what she was about to suggest, she decided to take him out of his misery. "How comfortable would you be if I only wore a tank and pants?"

With the matter-of-fact quality her words held, one would've thought she was only talking about the weather. But, this was definitely not the weather. And, judging from the fact that her fiancé was suddenly wide awake, quite possibly due to the salacious considerations before him, she decided it wasn't worth risking anything tonight. Besides, she wasn't in the mood to reveal so much of herself to someone again, even if it was him. She may trust him dearly and love him more than she could say, but this close proximity was audacious enough by itself — never mind if she took into consideration the lack of clothing she'd be wearing if he took her up on this plan.

"Actually, never you mind. It's silly to think that I'm not able to move, and it's undoubtedly not a good idea to stay like this." Vaguely shifting on top of the bed's blanket in an attempt to gain momentum and get up, she found herself being stopped by his arms tightening their hold. The worse part was, he barely had to do anything to stop her, that's how exhausted she was. "Charles?"

"If you're forcing yourself to get out of bed only because you feel self-conscious about what you'd be wearing, please stay." Pausing a beat, loosening his hold. "Of course, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or obligated to do anything. But that includes feeling obligated to change into something 'traditional' or 'conservative' instead of wearing what you'd like."

_Well, then. _The truth was, she longed for the days where she could wear far less than a pyjama set designed to cover every inch of her. She'd been refraining from that for the entire trip, not wanting to scar Charles if he wasn't ready and also not wanting to feel self-conscious about her body after all these years. Speaking of, at the thought of feeling self-conscious, Elsie moved a little once more, unsure of herself. But before she could even inch her way off the bed, another wave of exhaustion was crashing over her. _Right,_ that really decided it. She was not getting out of this bed anytime soon.

"My, my," The _adagio_ murmur felt reassuring to her ears, even as her heart was pounding to the beat of _allegretto_, "I think I'll just stay here, if that's all right."

She'd only been teasing him a little with her last remark, but he'd taken it seriously: "Of course it's all right." Then, realizing the situation at hand and noticing how comatose his future wife looked. "Can I help at all?"

It was a dangerous game he was unwittingly playing, and she had the foresight to ditch the idea of asking him to help her get out of her trousers. Even though they restricted her the most, the belt being far tighter than it should've been and causing her more pain than she'd like, that idea was almost guaranteed to break their deal from earlier this week.

"Actually, you could help with my blouse." As she was wearing that tank underneath, it felt like a safe enough request to make of him.

"It'd be my pleasure."

Yes, well, what she couldn't have anticipated was that the sensation of his hands working on undoing her blouse's buttons, steadily working at a methodical cadence, would nearly undo her. Her breath caught itself a few times, her body helpless to its reactions and thoughts, especially once he was past the first few buttons.

"Is this alright?" Charles had noticed her stilling, his hands pausing in their work, much to her frustration. She shifted without any thought, her skin tingling as his fingers inadvertently grazed her chest. The clothing shielded her from truly feeling his touch, but she had a fabulous inkling of what it would feel like. "Oh, I am _so _sorry, Els—"

"Charles, it's all right" Elsie tried to reassure him, unable to keep that damn breathy quality out of her voice, the one that Beryl had always teased her about when she got too drowsy. It so happened to be the same tone she had when was also too aroused, though the man hardly seemed bothered by it; far from it in fact, as he looked into her eyes questioningly. "Really."

But he didn't look to be believing her, not by a long shot.

And something told her that words weren't going to help reassure him, not now.

"Are you sure—"

Without another word, Elsie lifted a hand to grasp one of his own, having finished slipping her trousers off. And guiding his hand away from the blouse's buttons, she gently brought it to her breast. She could see his eyes widening in incredulity, his hand faintly resisting the temptation and gallantly trying to back away, but she calmly maintained her hold. There were still layers of fabric that bathed her with dignity, and this was hardly the most risqué action she'd ever taken. Furthermore, she needed him to know that she did trust him, even with her personal self-doubts. That this was truly all right even if she'd been initially hesitant. That, while she may not feel as beautiful as she once did and she may have trepidation about revealing this much of her body after so much time had passed, she trusted him to love her all the same.

And that trust made this okay.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" He breathed, the words dampening both of their eyes in heartbeats. "Or how happy I am to be engaged to you?"

Elsie didn't trust herself to speak, keeping perfectly still at his words and giving a smile that joyfully pierced through her exhaustion.

"Well, you _are _beautiful. And I am _very _happy. Very happy indeed."

They laid there for a little while longer in that position. Eventually, when it became clear that they were once again only a minute from passing out, they gradually went back to working on her buttons and freeing her from the rest of her clothes. She managed to unhook her bra with little effort, blushing a little as his unusually wide eyes took sight of her slipping it off and tossing it in the general vicinity of their suitcases.

Nevertheless, when it became clear that Charles would not be moving out of bed anytime soon to remove his own clothes, he had his own tinges of self-doubt. Surely a woman who'd been married before, someone who'd all these delightful privileges before, would be a little unimpressed by someone like him? A man who had never legitimately engaged in romance before, someone who had been so scared to live that he had needed the encouragement of a mentor throughout most of his life?

"Are you sure you want to help out a daft, old man, Elsie?" Charles quietly asked, looking away at the thought of her possible answers.

"You may be daft, but you're hardly old," She retorted, still maintaining some fondness underneath that sharp reprimand, "So, there'll be no more of that, thank you."

He promptly shut up, not mollified but not entirely trapped in his darker thoughts. Yet, it was obvious that he was not convinced she could possibly want to engage in such activities with someone like him.

"Charles," Elsie knew he wasn't completely at ease and had no desire to do this if it would cause such tension. But, much like he had gently coaxed her to look out across the Skydeck, she felt this was a time in which an old fear needed to be looked squarely in the eyes. And, luckily, she had something that might help. "Can I confess something?"

"Of course," He may be a bit stubborn at times, but he liked to think she could say whatever she needed to say when she needed to say.

"I have been wanting to do this ever since December."

The man's breath caught at the sincerity in her admission, eyes racing back only to discover hers held complete authenticity. And while he wouldn't confess feeling the same just yet — though, a lack of confession didn't mean it wasn't true: there'd indeed been a moment of delectable insinuation at the last winter ball, one that kept him up for nights afterward — he did trust that she was being truthful. And, seeing desire peek out from her eyes, desire that was all for _him_, no less, he couldn't help but know what his response was.

Thus, with a sleepy nod that still managed to give firm consent, she began to take the task of unbuttoning his dress shirt while he took care of undoing his trousers. Soon enough, it became his turn to still at the feeling of her hands working away on his buttons, taking in the sensation of her fingertips waltzing down his chest. The man couldn't deny he would love more of this sensation, that they should make a weekly tradition of this, if not something more frequent. And though his heart was racing at those thoughts, shivers of delight running through him every time her touch accidentally brushed up against him, he knew that they had agreed not to do anything too much. Besides, they were both too depleted from the day for anything more than this.

Still, "Elsie, are you doing that on purpose?"

The woman hummed curiously, pausing in her work and, incidentally, lingering near the bottom of his buttons. Unable to keep from yawning, Elsie tilted her head in curiosity and let her hands rest beside his stomach — not daring to go any further but not really thinking her actions through. Truly, knowing that her nimble fingers were only so far from a certain part of him, Charles couldn't help but take note of how much he wanted her to continue.

"What am I doing, Charles?" That hazy quality of her voice was far too enticing for his nerves. And from the looks of it, she was oblivious to her power. "Is something wrong?"

_Far from it. _But, he couldn't say that, not when they had a promise to keep, a promise they could hardly stick to if his mind went down this path. Still, he didn't want her to think she'd done something wrong, especially when nothing could be further from the truth.

"Not at all," Elsie nodded at this, bleary relief evident. "I was just wondering if you were intentionally brushing— never mind."

"Oh, was I?" Frowning a bit, biting her lip and looking more tempting in this moment than he could possibly imagine, "I'm sorry, I promise not to—"

"Don't you dare." They really needed to go to bed soon or else his resolve would dissolve like a poorly formed chord. And, no, _not _that kind of going to bed. "I mean, it's all right."

Now she was definitely blushing. But, nodding once again at his reassurances, Elsie went back to finishing the last of the buttons. And, soon enough, the only task left to them this late evening was crawling underneath the covers and passing out. Since they had tripped and fallen onto one of the sides of the bed only minutes ago, it would take a little bit more exertion on their part to trudge up to the head of the bed and under the covers.

And, soon enough, they did it. Winded from the movement, knowing they should've knocked out at least thirty minutes ago, the couple found themselves dragging themselves under the covers. And though the feeling of bare legs entwining should've had them scrambling to distance themselves, they were too exhausted to give a flying fig.

Or, at least, that should have been the case. Instead, "Should I try to move back a little?" had been Elsie's question, one that was unusually demure in comparison to her audacious behaviour from Wednesday night. Which, in retrospect, made sense: Wednesday night had preceded a day in which they were still merely audience members in a crowd. Tonight was to be followed by a day in which all of their actions would either make or break the result of this competition for Downton. Hence, newfound hesitation was continually spilling into their lives and making it difficult for the pair to legitimately be at peace with themselves.

Nevertheless, after everything they'd gone through this week, he needed this and he knew she did, too. Therefore, the man had quite the protest in response to the trepidation now rearing its ugly head again.

And what was said response, one may ask?

Grumbling something that included words along the line of "ridiculous woman", Charles reached out with the last of his energy to take her into his arms and reaffirm that she need not do that. Closing the distance between them unashamedly, he proceeded to envelope her as much as possible, wanting her to have no doubts as to his feelings. This was before the man realized what the sensation of Elsie pressing into him, pressing into him without proper pyjamas that is, would feel like. Blushing furiously in the dark, knowing his body was giving a certain reaction to this proximity, "Perhaps this is too much?"

She tightened her hold on at him at this, illustrating what she thought of _that_ suggestion. And, making sure he got the full message, she muttered into his hair something about a "daft man", the words tickling him in a way they never had before and giving him cause to rethink the sentiment behind term of endearment. And then the woman took the moment a step further by doing something she'd been wanting to ever since February:

Nimble fingers began to drift through salt-and-pepper strands, starting to massage his head and finally turn his own thoughts into putty. After all, turnabout was fair play. And though his ensuing groan informed Elsie of her fiancé's desire for something more than mere head massages, she knew that desire would give soon way to a relaxed contentment — one that would provide him with a chance to properly sleep tonight.

And eventually when his breathing had evened out enough to indicate that the man had fallen asleep, his fiancée found herself drifting off into slumber. Truly, there was something indescribably alleviating about being entangled with him in this fashion. So much so that no worries about tomorrow or concerns for her students buzzed about her, no distractions other than the pleasant sensation that came with this.

And, little did she know, he felt exactly the same.

_._

**A/N: **Who else loves it when these two are adorable cutie patooties? I do hope that wasn't too risqué a piece of writing at the end, because all I wanted to really convey was the intimacy that can come with this sort of situation.

Also, no joke, when I was writing about Clar informing Mr. Carson of her plan, it literally started storming outside. Seriously, we could turn this into a game by this point!

In any case, onto the next final day of the competition! As always, have a lovely day :)


	6. Contemplations and Vivid Realizations

**Author's Note: **My apologies for the delay. Suffice to say, this week has gotten the better of me. And it's only now that I actually made it back home for a bit that I can finally breathe again.

But, because of the lack of the delay, the posting schedule is going to be a little different. This chapter will be posted today, the next chapter _should_ be posted tomorrow, if not by Monday. Also,** Saturday is being split into two parts. **There was just far too much to cover for it to keep the normal format.

**Also, to all reviewers of the last story: **I'm going to respond to all reviews as soon as I can. Regardless, thank you for your continued support. It's been a blessing that I truly appreciate.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the songs performed. All choirs and competing singers mentioned are fictitious. And, if I butcher a foreign language mentioned, my sincerest apologies. Similarly if there are more mistakes in the writing than normal.

**Songs being performed: **

"When You Believe" - Look up "When You Believe | BYU Noteworthy (ft. BYU Women's Chorus)"

"Rolling in the Deep" - Look up "Rolling In The Deep - SSAA a cappella (unaccompanied) women's choir arranged by Dorothy Horn"

"The Misty Mountain" - Look up "The Misty Mountain (men's choir, a capella)"

"Tsuna'ngari" - Look up "Tsuna'ngari (Connection)" for SATB Choir, a cappella ver. Text and Music by Kentaro Sato (Ken-P)"

"The Silver Swan" - "RRHS A Capella Choir The Silver Swan Gibbons UIL 2009"

"Bohemian Rhapsody" - "Bohemian Rhapsody (SATTBB a cappella Choir) - Arranged by Philip Lawson"

**_._**

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 5:29am (CST) [11:29am GMT]**

There was no grandiose moment when the realization had finally hit him. No cueing of celestial trumpets or the sound of divine major chords humming through the air. Only the groggy realization that he was no longer the student. The drowsy understanding that, even though he would always be learning something new from life, his one real mentor was gone. Had been gone for a few days, in fact.

Sure, the man had had many vocal instructors. Many teachers who were all too happy to instruct him on vowel modification, who felt it were their duty to make sure he was technically proficient. But, no one had ever quite risen to the occasion in the same manner. No one had inspired him to step quite so far out of his comfort zone, or pushed him to be the best person he could be.

"Charles?"

They were still embraced from last night, the pair continuously waking up to face the day. And he knew, from how she snuggled deeper into his arms, she could sense his distressing thoughts. That she recognized from his tension alone that he was not perfectly all right. But, this time, she couldn't do anything. Not really. They were both vaguely cognizant of the fact that this grief of his was something only he could legitimately face, even if he felt utterly unprepared to do so. They could recognize that this was not something that needed to be "fixed".

But he did need to acknowledge it. Needed to look it in the eye and see it for what it was. And understand that there was indeed more grief to process.

Still, all he found himself able to do was eventually make his way out of bed, set aside his pain for what needed to be done today, and pray that his old mentor would be proud. It wasn't his best plan, but it was the only one he currently had.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 6:02am (CST) [12:02pm GMT]**

"Can someone please shut him up?" It couldn't count as a mumble or whisper; it was far grouchier than that. But, this _was_ Alfred speaking and he was only speaking up after four days of this tetchy experience. So, it was a bit understandable that his behaviour wasn't the kindest, even if it also wasn't necessarily appropriate.

"It's Jimmy," Thomas indifferently stated over the sound that was said tenor's warm-ups. Kent was in the bathroom, practicing a few vocal techniques that weren't particularly enjoyable to hear before 6:30am. Of course, the tenor's three hotel companions were quite possibly also done with enjoying his presence, having had to share a room for the last week. But, that was another matter of debate. "Did you expect anything different?"

Interestingly enough, the baritone — someone who had certainly humoured the tenor in the bathroom on more than one occasion - seemed to be unimpressed with the situation. Maybe it was that American friend Barrow had been hanging out with, but Alfred really thought the baritone's patience for Jimmy had changed over the course of this last week.

"We could just lock him in the bathroom." Alfred snorted at this, knowing they wouldn't dare do to that. But he appreciated Thomas' suggestion because it was damn hilarious and Jimmy almost deserved it for being like this.

"We might just do that tomorrow if he keeps this up," Andy muttered under his breath, having also been pushed to his limit.

Now, normally, that might've only received a snort of appreciation and a knowing smirk. But, because this was Andy speaking, the sweet young man with the most patience in the quartet of boys, Alfred and Thomas couldn't help but bust up laughing.

"What are you talking about?"

Seemed like the warming up would be stopped if it sounded like fun was going on in the other room.

"Nothing, Jimmy!" "Just talking about the competition!" "It was nothing — go back to your warm-ups!"

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 6:24am (CST) [12:24pm GMT]**

"So, today every choir gets to choose what they want to sing, right?" Beryl nodded at Albert, having been thinking of that herself. "What do you think that'll look like?"

"Honestly?" Flashing back to all the band competitions she'd been a witness to over the course of her life, "It could mean anything."

It would only take about five performances to prove her point. But, once her point was proven, he'd understand without a trace of doubt just what she meant.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 6:47am (CST) [12:47pm GMT]**

"Hey! You're from Downtown Academy, right?"

"That's Downton," Gladys corrected out of habit, finding herself too over the fact that everyone continually messed up their name to care. It wouldn't be the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. "And, yes, I am."

"Cool." The group of singers — a diverse bunch of teens from the looks of it — came to a stop in the hallway to properly converse. "Well, for a group of like twenty, you were guys were pretty decent. It's really something to be proud of that you even made it this far, really."

_Do I see you competing today? _She didn't even know where this group came from, only that they were probably Americans, judging from the accents. Still, she wasn't not interested in stirring up any trouble with these individuals, not yet at least. "Why, thank you."

"Of course!" One of the closer ones leaned in a bit conspiratorially, gaining her attention, "And, even if you don't get anything more than eighth place, you guys definitely will still be cool in our eyes."

_Really now? _It seemed she had a reason to stir up something after all.

"Well, can I let you in on a little secret?" The one pretending to be discreet nodded at her question, somehow a few inches closer than before.

"Yeah?"

"It's really not fair of us to share any of our secrets without consulting Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes first, Gladys." Septimus always did have a knack for stopping her before she could _really _get up to anything. As well as stepping in and smoothly guiding her away from the lot. "If you will excuse us."

Seriously though, it just really wasn't fair. She didn't see CJ holding back on the Internet. So, why did they have to refrain from giving people cheek in real life?

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:10am (CST) [1:10pm GMT]**

"My dear, if it is not an emergency then why are you calling me? Isn't this the day that will define Downton's choral success for the year?"

Isobel Crawley silently sighed at the sound of Violet's tone, being unable to explain herself in this instance. It had recently struck her, ever since the moment that she realized there had been no one here to playfully challenge, that she really did miss her colleague and friend. And though she'd been initially resolved to only say as such upon returning to Downton, she did feel somewhat different now.

"Well, I was just wondering if you wanted me to record today's performance." This statement wasn't entirely true, but Isobel didn't feel up to being quite that candid just yet.

"Oh?" It seemed even Violet was struck by the sentimentality behind it: she wasn't shooting off a pithy remark at the drop of the hat. "Oh, I don't think I'd terribly mind that. So long as you're not intentionally disrupting the show, that is."

"Of course not! I'd never dream of doing such a thing." Yes, well, with that little matter now resolved, there was no official reason to continue on with the call. Yet, for whatever reason, neither of the two women seemed to want to hang up just yet. Hence, the pair awkwardly remained on the line, both administrators unusually hesitant as to what to say.

"Well, I better be off." Isobel eventually offered, wanting to say something more meaningful but still unable to find the words. "And when I call next I'll have a full report on how Downton walked away with first place today!"

"Do you promise?" Both administrators chuckled at this, recalling a rather different conversation involving with the head of Carlisle Institute that had contained that particular phrase. This time, however, there was no malice in Violet's words.

"I promise to at least have a full report."

"Well, nobody's perfect." Which sent Isobel off into a snort, much as she tried to hide the sound. Though, this remark also led to the conversation lightening to a level in which it felt appropriate to eventually sign-off.

Still.

The moment she was back home, she'd be paying her friend a visit.

For the banter, if nothing else.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:18am (CST) [1:18pm GMT]**

"Mary! Matthew!" _Just what we needed,_ the English soprano thought darkly to herself, fixing a pained smile as Cindy Paisley went to join the pair. "I never got to say congratulations yesterday, but you were all so great!"

"Thank you, Cindy!" And, of course, Matthew was so taken with the American that he was being this friendly. Why wouldn't he be that taken? "Congratulations as well for making it into the final ten yourself! I can't believe you'll all be competing in a few hours."

"Thank you, Matthew! It's not the same as _a cappella,_ I know, but I do love my choir."

"Of course," Mary gave the American this little comment, putting slight effort into not sounding too begrudging about this conversation still persisting. Cindy tilted her head curiously, noticing something about the Crawley daughter's attitude, but Matthew jumped back into the conversation before anything else could go wrong:

"Well, we'd hate to keep you from competing — break a leg with it all!" The blonde American smile graciously at this, returning the favor before heading out to join her classmates. Of course, once she was sufficiently out of earshot, "Mary, I don't understand why you can't at least pretend to be nice with Cindy. She's seems to be a nice person."

"She's our competition Matthew, nothing more." Besides, who was that chipper at 7:15 in the morning? And, also, why wasn't Paisley as nervous as the rest of them? It should be illegal to be that bright and alert and cheerful this early. And on a day like today, to boot. "Don't think she actually cares about us or wants to make friends."

"If you say so."

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:25am (CST) [1:25pm GMT]**

"Are you really having fun, my darling?" The other chaperones had left Cora alone for a few minutes, citing that they wanted to get down to breakfast before everyone wolfed it all away. But, she didn't mind. This was far more important.

_"Yes, Mama! It's been quite a treat to meet other writers!"_

Though her voice was a bit tinny from the phone's reception, Edith's delight rang out into the hotel room for all to see. And, smiling down at her phone screen with more than a little happiness herself, "Oh, I am glad to hear it!"

_"But, enough about me! How's it all going over there?"_

Chuckling, "Everyone's excited to perform, but I want to hear more about this conference of yours!"

_"Well, firstly..."_

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:29am (CST) [1:29pm GMT]**

"Oh my gosh, are you from Downton?"

Joseph Moseley had not gotten nearly enough sleep last night to process the fact that someone was talking to him. Nah, the poor teenager had been unable to keep from wondering just what would happen today.

Then, he realized someone was tapping his arm, "Who, me?"

The dark-skinned brunette giggled at this, "Well, with an accent as cute as that, you have to be!"

Her raven-haired friend chimed in, "Yeah, don't you remember seeing him on stage, Megan? Who could forget a face like that?"

"Me?" He couldn't help but repeat in dumbstruck, unsure of what alternate universe he'd wandered into.

"Yes, of course, you! What's your name?" The brunette interjected, beaming at him.

"His name is Joseph," Phyllis had somehow managed to step in front of him, accidentally brushing up against him and sending his brain into overdrive in the process, "And my name is Phyllis."

The brunette backed off at this, but the dark-haired teen only seem to give a smirk in response.

"Well, Joseph," She began suggestively, looking past the alto to make eyes at the baritone, "If you ever want to get a taste of Minnesota, you know where to find us. Remember," Sparing Phyllis a glance as she knowingly spoke, "'Pitches Be Cray'."

"Oh, Monica, don't scar him!" Megan giggled, grabbing her raven-haired friend as the American pair started to make their way down a different part of the hotel. Joseph only continued to stare in confusion at the two teens as they waved to him once more before heading out of sight. "Break a leg today, Phyllis, Joseph!"

Only when the two were far out of sight, "What do you supposed that was— Phyllis?"

"C'mon, I don't think the others will wait for us at breakfast." First, he'd been hit on — if he was correctly reading the situation, that is — by Americans, and now his best friend looked to be ignoring him?

Apparently, he wasn't in some alternate universe. It really was some sort of alternate hell he'd wandered into.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:31am (CST) [1:31pm GMT]**

It'd happened by pure accident, though none of the Americans involved could truly regret it.

The quartet of adults had been making their way down one of the many hallways of the _The Triple Trees _when they'd caught sight of their favorite British couple walk down another path perpendicular to them. Conversation was not made, seeing as how Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were only focused on discussing something possibly pertaining to today, but the four Americans had stopped in their tracks at the sight.

Especially when they realized that the two Brits had been holding hands throughout their entire conversation and sending each other the sweetest glances.

Hence, the following conversation:

"You do realize they're people and not characters in a story, right?" Liam was all for fondly appreciating love, but his three friends squealing away at the sight was a bit extra in his opinion. Though, honestly, he'd probably be right there with them if he didn't have to compete today. Competitions always did make people a little weird.

"Why can't we appreciate love in general, fictional or not?" Joylin was personally all for always admiring any form of love whenever possible. That and remembering to take pictures of life before it all become a foggy memory, if only so that the special moments could live on.

"Joy's right — appreciating love every chance we get is important!" Elena was just all for the sweet behavior of the couple, finding it to be a nice possibility of what her own future could look like. She didn't need her future to match Mrs. Hughes' or Mr. Carson's, but she liked that their life was possible.

"Exactly! Besides, we could all be in a story and you'd never know!" Clar really did enjoy appreciating love much like the rest of her friends. It just so happened her brain was always working at 6,000 miles a minute, and thus always managed to shift the conversation without even having to try.

"Funny, Clar," "I believe the appropriate phrase is 'there is no spoon', right?" "Oh, that's right, we're all just characters in a story. So, who wants to write in the free drinks that'll magically appear in a minute?"

"See," The brunette began to proudly proclaim, a tickled gleam in her eyes even as she continued to take their remarks quite seriously, "I knew you guys would get it! Though, you do know we can't drink when our students are depending on us!"

"Ah, but are _our _students depending on us? Other than Liam's, of course!"

"You know what I meant..."

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:35am (CST) [1:35pm GMT]**

"What are you doing here?" Not his most eloquent statement, but it was still fairly early and Thomas could admit to being more nervous than anything else.

That didn't stop him from cringing at his choice of words.

"If you'd like," Danny began to teasingly offer, stepping into the elevator even as he spoke, "I'm more than happy to take the stairs."

"Don't you dare." The bass was the only person, other than Andy, that is, that Thomas was perfectly happy to share a lift with.

That they were the only two individuals in the space was only the icing on the cake.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:37am (CST) [1:37pm GMT]**

Why did they always talk to _her_?

"You guys were so cool yesterday! And you sang so good yourself!"

William warily approached the American teen now chatting up Daisy near the toast section of breakfast, internally sighing at the fact that yet another American was interested in his friend. This was the third one since they'd performed, and it was only _after _Downton had performed that anyone had paid her any mind.

"Erm," Thankfully, Daisy looked more interested in the toast than in chatting. "Thanks. But, I don't know how you'd be able to tell how well I did — unless you could really hear me over the mics? In which case, you should know that you're not supposed to hear individual—"

"Oh, no, it wasn't the mics! I could just tell!" She nodded at this, still looking a bit hesitant to accept the praise. "Well, break a leg today! I know you'll be good!"

"Thanks," Daisy then reached for some bread as though the American had already left, forcing the complimenter to depart without another word. William couldn't help the surge of relief and satisfaction that this stranger's words had little effect on Daisy, just like the other two. "You want some toast, too, William? Or should I put it away?"

"I'll have some, thanks." The tenor shook his thoughts away, officially joining her now and determined to enjoy her company.

"I really don't get why they all keep talking to me," Daisy continued to confess as she put her bread into the toaster, "I mean, it's not like they could actually hear _me_, now is it?"

She really did look to be oblivious for why these blokes would be hitting her up.

And poor William didn't really know if he wanted to be the one to explain it.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:40am (CST) [1:40pm GMT]**

"I just don't get what they were on about, you know? Me? 'Cute'? Oh, is that the lift?"

But Phyllis was gaping at the sight of Danny and Thomas clearly doing more than just talking in the elevator. Of course, Thomas looked like his current mortification was strangling all prior happiness away, but he remained embraced in Danny's arms. That the two young teens' lips were also still locked, instead of jolting away from one another at the intrusion, only added to the fact that they had been engaged in strictly non-platonic activities and were mostly past the point of caring who saw them.

"Of course you're cute, Joseph." The alto babbled without thinking, still in shock from the sight. How often did you find your classmate, who had been attempting to be in the closet these last few years, looking as though they were finally being honest with themselves? And, better yet, how often did you find that out in a situation like this?

"What?" Now it was Joseph that gaped at her, quite unaware of what was going on in the elevator, "Of course, you mean puppy-dog cute, right?"

_Oh, for the love of__— _Thomas couldn't be seen with Danny like this, certainly not today of all days. And for all the outward calm she had been maintaining, Phyllis' thoughts had been a roller coaster for most of the morning. Watching her best friend get flirted with, coming to terms with the fact that she was exceptionally nervous about today, it was all fervently bubbling into a massive mess of emotions.

Yet, for the roller coaster that had been these last few hours, she was feeling perfectly calm and understanding of what she needed to do right now.

"No, I most certainly do not mean 'puppy dog' cute."

"Then, you mean to say that— _oh._"

Words never suited circumstances like these.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 8:17am (CST) [2:17pm GMT]**

This time, Tom spotted her instead of the reverse. Even more surprisingly, it'd been she that had snuck outside, basking in the morning's warmth as though they didn't have to compete in the next few hours.

"I think I'm starting to get it," Sybil calmly began to inform him, gazing about the bustling world before them. "How this could be a home, how it could feel just easier." Easier to live, easier to existence, she didn't really know what she was really referring to.

She only knew that, whatever else, she was beginning to understand.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 8:47am (CST) [2:17pm GMT]**

"Why are they always like this?" What with O'Brien snarking off by herself in the corner, Mary glowering at her bacon, Rose chatting up a storm with other competitors, Thomas blushing every time he looked at a certain table, Jimmy preening over his toast, Denker cackling away at Spratt, it always felt as though Harold Lowe was in some sort of modern soap opera than anything else.

Robert Thompson nodded in faint agreement, shrugging a little himself at the question. He could only suppose it was just what life was like when it came to being a part of this choir. He didn't really know if there was anything else to be said about the subject, in all honesty.

"Beats me." Isabel Johnson confessed with an eye-roll. "I mean, I sort of get it today because we're competing." Pausing, giving a little more thought to her statement. "But, nah, I don't get why this always has to be the norm."

"Pretty sure we're never going to understand." Charlotte Williams tossed out into the air, getting a sleepy agreement from Evelyn Portillo in response. Neither Charlotte nor Evelyn were really awake enough to put legitimate thought into the subject, but they were cognizant enough to be well aware of the conversation at hand.

Isabel continued to speak aloud, really just thinking to herself: "I mean, how do Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes do it?"

"'How do Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes do' what, exactly?" Mrs. Patmore always had a knack for stepping into conversations when least expected. And though the five teenagers were currently more mellow than most of their classmates, they did manage to jolt into action at the older woman's entrance.

**"**Just life, Mrs. Patmore" But that answer didn't look to satisfy the band director. So, the alto elaborated, "Just life in the sense that I just don't get how they have their lives as teachers without losing their sanity. Does that make sense?"

It may not have been the most effective statement uttered, but that hardly mattered. This subject was something that Beryl Patmore seemed to understand quite well, judging from her sudden series of snorts intertwining with giggles. That, and the fact that she was unable to shoot off a retort. All in all, her response only gave the other five students reason to tiredly chuckle at the laughter, relieved they weren't about to get scolded for their comments.

But, really, how choir teachers managed to take care of everything without losing their sanity was a mystery that they all felt the world would never fully understand.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 8:47am (CST) [2:47pm GMT]**

"I'll be down in a just a minute, go on without me."

That was what Anna had informed Mary when the Crawley sister was making her way down to breakfast.

That had been almost two hours ago.

She still hadn't moved from her spot on the bed.

See, it wasn't that Anna didn't want to compete or anything like that. It was more that she hadn't been taking into consideration all the things that Mrs. Butte had warned about this last spring. How the former Downton teacher repeatedly reminded her that she really ought to reconsider staying in the advance choir, that she was probably better off putting her voice to good use by _not _singing in the first place.

And, yeah, Anna knew that wasn't really true. That she could sing well and that she should stay in the Concert Choir of Downton and keep singing like she had been. It was just also that she'd become more and more aware of her flaws as a singer over the last few months. That she'd begun to really understand how _not _good she was, that the mistakes she'd been making were probably going to cost her section today and that maybe—

_**You want to walk to breakfast together? Or are you already downstairs? - JB**_

The soprano released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been clutching, relief wading to the surface of her thoughts as she realized John had texted her. Her phone had buzzed right before her thoughts could get to the worst of it, putting a stop to the dark path she'd been stumbling down. His text hadn't stopped her doubts altogether, but it did help to remind her that she wasn't alone.

**_I'd love that. _****_\- AS_**

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 10:02am (CST) [4:02pm GMT]**

They had all been gathered in the lobby as a sort of last hurrah before braving the rest of the day. Even though none of today's _a cappella _choirs would be going up to compete until the afternoon, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had been quite adamant that everyone step away from breakfast to hear whatever it was they had to say.

"Now, before we go off to compete today, Mrs. Hughes and I would just like to say one final thing,"

Ah, yes, the pep talk that all choirs needed to hear before they'd go off to compete. Complete with a rousing speech that was designed to reassure everyone that they'd do all right for themselves today, no matter what else happened.

Yeah, Jimmy already knew he'd be brilliant today. So, much as he appreciated the gesture, Mr. Carson could spare them all the supposed motivational lecture and let them jump into the action. Really, it was as though they'd been waiting over five weeks for this, not five days. So, if they could all get a move on in life, that would be really great.

"Downton on three, then?" Alfred had piped up the moment the obligatory pep talk had concluded, much to the tenor's growing distaste.

_Do we really have to do this? _But, it seemed there was a chorus of agreement peppering itself around the atmosphere, because suddenly thirty pairs of hands were now reaching out to meet one another in the center of their little circle and briefly shout the name of their town for all to hear. As though anyone else in the vicinity would care about where they were from.

_Right. Can we move on now?_

Though, little did Jimmy Kent know, more people heard that little battle cry than he'd anticipated.

Better yet, a lot more strangers cared about it than he'd ever realize.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:14pm (CST) [7:14pm GMT]**

_"There can be miracles_

_When you believe."_

He had no reason to indulge such a sentimental message, especially seeing as how he'd never care for religion. But, Septimus soon realized that the message Aucoin Academy's Women Ensemble currently presented was one he found himself accepting. That, with their tranquil voices marching on through their lyrics, there a potent beauty being wielded in their sound.

_"Though hope is frail,_

_It's hard to kill."_

But, if Gladys even got the slightest hint of his indulging in this song's message, he would deny everything.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:18pm (CST) [7:18pm GMT]**

Although the Women Ensemble of Aucoin Academy had aimed for an angelic sound, the ladies of "Pitches Be Cray" had a far more robust goal in mind. That is, to have the most fun they could with the fiercest sound possible. Having entered the stage with a presence that exuded confidence, the Minnesotan choir had continued to reel in the attention by fiercely clapping a rhythm up on the risers once they had been cued into action.

_"There's a fire _

_Starting in my heart,"_

The young teen in the crowd couldn't help but sit up at this, having not expected a pop song like this to make an appearance.

_"Reaching a fever pitch_

_And it's bringing me out the dark."_

"Mrs. Hughes," Daisy's ears picked up the whisper long before she realized it came from Mr. Carson, "Isn't _a cappella _not supposed to be just Glee Clubs and a scandalous attempt at sound?

_"Finally, I can see things crystal clear,"_

The young singer had stared at her choir director in wonderment, never having heard the man sound so teasing. But, what had almost thrown her completely off was watching Mrs. Hughes actually _stick her tongue out _at the director in response.

_"Go ahead and sell me out_

_And then I'll lay your ship bare."_

_That _had been almost enough to break her ability to remain a respectful audience member.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:23pm (CST) [7:23pm GMT]**

Dahlberry Academy had scattered themselves across the risers, the young men spreading out and sitting down in various spots as they hummed the chilling start to their song. Gone was the playful attitude of yesterday, the one that swaggered about as though they owned the stage. Now only remained a solemn and respectful demeanor, one that wanted to do justice to their song and win the crowd over

_"Far over the misty mountains cold._

_To dungeons deep and caverns old."_

The soloist had stood all by his lonesome, though there was a gradual rise as individual after individual brought themselves to their feet.

_"We must away,_

_Ere break of day_

_To find our lost forgotten gold."_

John Bates couldn't help but continue to watch in bemusement, finding the chords to be quite impressive as well as their overall stage performance. He'd seen the Dahlberry boys goof around through lessons and their own performance yesterday. But, he could admit they were pulling their act together today.

_"The pines were roaring on the height_

_The winds were moaning in the night."_

He found it to be more than a little impressive. He wasn't willing to hand over explicit praise, but he really did find it to be more than a little impressive.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:30pm (CST) [7:30pm GMT]**

Just Dahlberry had taken on a serious tone for the day, Domoto Senior High School looked to be embracing a meaningfully solemn message.

_"Hontō-no Koto-wo_

_Miru-nowa."_

This, however, focused on the truth. Of seeing the truth as it is, of being home no matter where one was, of being one with the world at hand. Of the connection between hearts, regardless of distance or pain.

_"Nante Muzukashī-no-dar__ō."_

It was a piece with a message that gracefully reverberated around the space, a poignant reminder of some of the important things inherent in life.

_"Hontō-no Koto-wo_

_Omou-nowa Nante Hitoribocchi-nano-__dar__ō."_

Elsie couldn't confess to being fluent in Japanese or fully understanding the message. She could only close her eyes for a spell and listen, taking in the tones of the singers and comprehending the beautiful message as best as she could. It was serene, gently pushing her to remember what today was really about.

_"Hontō-no Koto-wo Tsutaeru-nowa __Nante Yūki-nga _

_Iru-no-dar__ō."_

Glancing at her fiancé, gazing at their students, she knew it would all work out.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:35pm (CST) [7:35pm GMT]**

William had been nervous from the start. But now that he was standing backstage with the rest of Downton and getting ready to perform, he was _petrified._ They had been called forth to come to the backstage area long before it was their turn to perform, but they were only allowed to approach the curtains and prepare to walk on stage now. It wouldn't be their turn to sing for another five minutes or so, but they could silently get ready now.

And, at least the current song being sung on stage was helping. It looked like the director of Donovan & Nielsen Tech, a portly man who probably was closer in age to Mr. Carson than some of the other choir directors here, was having his students perform a classic song. And, maybe William shouldn't have snuck away from his classmates to watch this, but he found he didn't really care about anything other than finding out what was happening on the stage.

_"The silver swan, _

_Who living had no note,"_

After all, this had been the same song two other competing schools had performed back in the spring. Why so many schools gravitated toward this song, William didn't really get. It was pretty enough and short enough to captivate most audiences. He just didn't understand why so many directors wanted this specific song to be performed when there were plenty of other ones to look at.

_"When death approach—"_

"No, no, Artie! What did we talk about actually _winning _today?" All on stage fell silent as a young redheaded woman came up on stage, one who was shaking her head in disbelief. It was clear that her outburst was all a part of the choir's act because the portly director only archly turned in his colleague's direction instead of getting really offended. Still, nobody had been expecting the song to be cut off or for this change to be made, least of all William . "Dude, remind me why I said you could choose today's song?"

The portly director of Donovan and Nielsen Tech stopped conducting, crossing his arms and looking at his colleague in disbelief: "What do you have against 'The Silver Swan'?"

"Dude, 'The Silver Swan' is cool on a normal day, don't get me wrong. But," Turning back to the choir, "This isn't a normal day. So, why don't you scoot on over and let these students of ours ask the crowd if," Lifting her arms to conduct as though this were a rock concert instead of a choral competition, she cued their students into action with a rousing:

_"Is this the real life? _

_Is this just fantasy?_

_Caught in a landslide_

_No escape from reality."_

Already, the audience was roaring with approval — having not expected this and loving every second of it. From Gibbons to Queen, the choir on stage had made quite the leap when it came to their selection. And, even though he was now really sure Downton wasn't going to win, not with such a cool performance like that, William did think detachedly appreciate the change.

Especially when he caught sight of Mr. Carson's reaction to the change.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:43pm (CST) [7:43pm GMT]**

Sarah O'Brien had intentionally been the closest to her two teachers as they all walked closer toward the stage area, the curtains masking everyone's steps through the darkness and giving her a chance to unashamedly eavesdrop. As her nerves were quick to remind the young woman, it was their turn to compete. Their last chance to prove why Downton Academy was a name these people should remember. And, by staying right where she was, she could ensure that she didn't miss a single thing from her teachers.

"Elsie," The young singer realized with a sense of excitement that she wasn't supposed to be this close to her teachers, not if they thought they could use given names instead of surnames. And had she been someone else, she might've made a move to step back. But this was Sarah O'Brien. So, she only snuck closer."I had a thought about this,"

What "this" he was specifically referring to, the alto didn't know for sure. But, whatever it was, she wasn't going to ignore it. Her action may have been seen as a blatant intrusion of privacy, but she wasn't going to risk being unprepared for a change in plan.

"Yes, Charles?"

"It's just," He began, slowing his fiancée down further and nearly making O'Brien stumble in the process. Yet, even though her director was now keeping his _voce _at an appropriately _sotto _level, she found herself able to snatch up everything spoken. "This doesn't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right?" They're only a few feet away from the next five minutes and there'll be no going back once that's started. The alto knew this as well as anyone else, having participated in competitions before. Donovan & Nielsen's choir would only be performing for another minute or so and then it'd be their turn to shine.

And if Mr. Carson thought he could just change some part of the plan at a moment's notice, he was going to be quite wrong.

"_This_ doesn't feel right." What the choir director was referring to, the young woman still didn't know. But it didn't matter: when there was an appropriate time, she'd be interrupting this conversation and stopping it in its track. "And, I know this is an inappropriate time to make this sort of suggestion, but, I was wondering,"

_No way._ This time, the young soprano did collide into the curtain, alerting her teachers to her presence. It was partially the curtain's fault, but also because she'd had heard her director's plan and couldn't believe he thought it was a good idea...

_._

**Author's Note: **Okay, before anything else, I have to say that this really did feel like the best spot to stop for right now. Much like every other choir show in the series, this is as close to an intermission as we're going to get without an official break (four choirs have performed and six are left).

Furthermore, because I know this is an unusual detour from the norm — and since I'm pretty sure this is my first real cliff-hanger for this story — I'm going to work on having the second part of Saturday up by tomorrow. I can't guarantee it, because this weekend is as hectic as this last week, but I will try my best to do so.

In any case, I hope you've enjoyed this and that you have a nice day!


	7. Let My Love Be Heard

**To the guest reviewer of the previous chapter: **Hehe, I think you'll be finding that out within the next 500 words or so! And, truly, the second half of your comment had me busting up! Thank you for your hilariously delightful review!

**Author's Note: **Thank you ever so much for your patience with this. My intention is to have the next and final chapter out by the end of this week. If anything, it will be posted by this Sunday.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the music. I don't own the fandoms referenced. _**And,**_ **I do not share every character's opinion** on music. For instance, unlike what a certain bass is going to say, Lauridsen's "O Magnum Mysterium" is a beautiful piece that is quite worthy of listening to. Furthermore, to be in the top ten of any choir competition is impressive. So, when a certain Downton character gets caught up in that part of the drama, please note that it does not reflect my own opinions.

That being said, I am only striving to accurately represent the types of opinions I've witnessed over the years.

**Songs being performed:**

"Let My Love Be Heard" - Look up "Let My Love Be Heard - Jake Runestad" (specifically, performed by the Bob Cole Conservatory Chamber Choir)

"The Sound of Silence" - Look up "Sound of Silence (A Cappella) - The Gentlemen College"

"O Magnum Mysterium" - Look up "Nordic Chamber Choir - O Magnum Mysterium (M. Lauridsen)

"Bliss"- Look up "Bliss - Eric Whitacre"

"Unclouded Day" - Look up "Conspirare performs "Unclouded Day," arr. Shawn Kirchner"

**_._**

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:46pm (CST) [7:46pm GMT]**

"And, now, representing the Yorkshire County of England, let's put our hands together a second time for Downton Academy!"

Beryl perked up in her seat, having been counting down the acts until they'd get to the best part of the show. Even with only ten _a cappella _choirs going today, she was brimming with impatience to see her students and friends compete, knowing that they deserved to be here today.

"What the—?"

Unbeknownst to Beryl, six American voices had slowly begun to chant as Downton Academy had been announced. Six individuals had leapt to their feet alongside the chaperones, leading the charge when it came to creating a gradual applause for the school. It had been a low cadence, one that marched to the rhythm of rapidly building claps. One that effortlessly wheedled other voices to chime in, persuading other hands to carry the beat. The result being that, by the time the choir at hand had filed onto the stage area and taken to the risers, a fierce echo was erupting throughout the auditorium.

"Downton! Downton!"

The chorus of approval continued to expand into a war cry, the claps building in tempo. _Larghetto _to _allegretto, mezzo-piano _to _forte_, the sounds and speeds of appreciation twirled through a _glissando _of adoration, fervently climbing through the possibilities as twenty-four individuals proudly took to the stage. Twenty-three students and one conductor, all of whom faithfully took to the stage one last time.

Needless to say, it could only get better from here on out.

_._

_**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:45pm (CST) [7:45pm GMT]**_

_Realizing that O'Brien had been eavesdropping had brought forth an irritating sense of dread that'd managed to distract both choir teachers from Charles' plan. Worst still, upon realizing that the young alto had stumbled badly enough to injure her ankle and sit this part out, there hadn't been much time to discuss the matter. __Which, once O'Brien had been taken care of, had only given them a minute or so to figure out the new situation._

_"Charles," Elsie had whispered through the myrtle velvet separating them from the world. "I'm touched that you want me to take your place today. But I cannot conduct this, not now."_

_That had been his suggestion. To take his place on the stage today and be the one to conduct the song. It'd already been approved by Torres if they'd felt up to this switch, seeing as he'd run the idea by the woman earlier in the week. Now all that had been left, in the opinion of the choir director, had been to officially make the request to Elsie and hopefully persuade her to take his place. _

_It just so happened that the woman seemed adamant about refusing, judging from that look in her eye. Her gaze held kindness, true. But it also held a determination that firmly opposed the suggestion._

_"Why not?" Charles still had to ask this even though they only had a quarter of a minute to decide. Yet his dear fiancée was already shaking his protest of a question away, faintly smiling through it all — her mind already quite made up._

_"The point of music is to be shared, right? To let our voices enrich the lives of others through song, correct?" He nodded, thinking that to be quite clear by this point. "Then, please, let me share this music with you by letting you conduct here and now. Let this song be not just mine, but __**ours**__." For there was such a difference between conducting and standing in the wings, between listening to a piece and engaging with it as much as one possibly can. And she really wanted him to have that experience, especially with a piece as poignant as this._

_He had come to a stop, somewhat understanding even if he couldn't fully agree. Yet the fact that she wanted to bring this song to another level of depth, a depth that they would inherently share...__ how could he possibly argue with that?_

_Furthermore, how could he possibly _want _to argue with that?_

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:46pm (CST) [7:46pm GMT]**

The chanting had climaxed into a standing ovation, hundreds of the audience happily remaining on their feet for the choir. And while some of the other competing schools had received similar levels of enthusiasm today, it hadn't felt nearly this exhilarating a response. Perhaps it was a personal bias slipping in, but it sounded as though Downton Academy was a personal favourite of this crowd.

At these sounds, Elsie couldn't help but bemusedly recall how proud a former friend and mentor would've been of her. In fact, Liz would've been overjoyed to see the life the Downton teacher had been leading for the last year. It was a calming thought, one that allowed her to watch from the curtains and meet Charles' furtive gaze once more as he prepared their students to begin their final performance for the week.

This had been the right decision.

And, this time, she knew he was starting to truly believe it.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:47pm (CST) [7:47pm GMT]**

Months of preparation had led them to this moment. Weeks of fine-tuning, days spent in revising all manners of performance, it had all been done for this competition. But, more specifically, it had all been conducted to carry them to today.

And what a time this has all been! Turning back to their students as delight welled up in his eyes — they had really accomplished a lot just by making it to these risers today — a thrill surged within Charles as he watched each of their beaming faces. Quietly, brimming with immense pride, the choir director of Downton Academy lifted his hands to their proper positions, silence descending on the space as a solemn attitude overtook the choir. Yet even though it was time to begin, the man paused in his movements, not quite ready to start. He needed a moment before he could take them into this last part of the journey, wanting to give them one final sentiment to cling to.

"I am so very, _very_ proud of all of you."

It couldn't be heard to anyone in the audience.

Nor was it detected by those lurking in the backstage area, save for a certain choir teacher whose ears were trained to catch his voice.

But it was heard.

And its message was clear:

Whatever happened next, both teachers were always going to be proud of their students for making it to today.

And now they could begin.

A soft, mournful reverberation of "_Oo"_s swept down the stage and into the seats before them. The result was an instantaneous dimming of initially rambunctious praise as it settled into a respectful, comprehending solitude. Gentle silence reigned for a beat before hands lifted once more and brought with them measures of shifting, lugubrious chords. Out of the mist the young women on stage provided, their voices stitching up a blanket of grief, a plea came from the men in the ensemble.

"_Angels, where you soar_

_Up to God's own light,_

_Take my own lost bird_

_On your hearts tonight;"_

Coaxing them into spilling toward _mezzo-forte_, Charles felt his memories form droplets of dread in his eyes. He recalled that day on the second fourth floor, that afternoon he'd feared the worst for Elsie. He remembered searching for the sheet music for this afterwards, determined to somehow incorporate it into their life, to somehow bring it into their own sounds and change its meaning.

He hadn't anticipated that he'd ever have a chance to conduct it, hadn't realized that he would be given a chance to transform sorrow into this beautiful tribute.

Hadn't realized how much he needed to do this after everything.

_"And as grief once more_

_Mounts to heaven and sings,"_

The young men of Downton dutifully carried the melodious lyrics even as their sections slid into harmonious clouds of sound. Holding out the last of those words, drifting into a controlled silence, pain floated forth as they all gently waited for his direction. And when the choir director felt it most appropriate to cue the tenors, baritones and basses back in, they faithfully followed.

"_Let my love be heard."_

After a few seconds of drinking in the chords the singers had grasped, it was time for the women of the choir to somberly echo their sentiments and take the lead.

"_Love," _The word was softly stretched to its fullest capacity, each section dipping into the various notes surrounding, "_Be heard."_

"_Angels," "Angels, where you soar,"_

All members of the ensemble melded into indistinguishable voices. There was now not one melody or thought. There were only thousands of notes strung together, millions of reverberations spinning through the space, bringing forth one message.

"_Up to God's own light." _Harmony broke through the grief, demanding no one looked away from this. "_Take my own lost bird," _Vocal heights previously unexplored swum through the depths of these chords, beginning to pierce the veil that sorrow had long since clutched, "_On your hearts tonight."_

"_And as grief once more,_

"_Mounts to heaven and sings,"_

The words may have repeated themselves; the beautiful dimensions within them had not, fervently stretching into their fullest capacities as they haunted the piece.

Now as one unit of sound, twenty-three voices gave way to a visceral, "_Let my love be heard."_, allowing their stilling whispers words to ring through the crowd.

"_Let my love be heard,_

_Whispering in your wings."_

Carrying the words out into the auditorium, the sentiments of the piece altered.

They began to transform.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:49pm (CST) [7:49pm GMT]**

She remained just out of sight, only able to witness his movements and their students in action. She couldn't see the audience, couldn't tell what the crowd felt. Could only observe as Charles summoned a round of gorgeous vowels from the sopranos and altos, his face quite determined to bring the depths of this piece to life as the other sections came into focus.

The ensemble continued to pour their voices into the piece, their faces enraptured by the emotions before them. Without hesitation, she was reminded of the day in which those same notes snaked down the steps of Downton, a day in which her numbness had unintentionally spilt into his path. In which his embrace had shocked her breath back into sound. A day wherein sobs and silence were one and the same, a day in which there was a _segno _without a release in sight.

"_Let my love," _Through the rivulets emerged a grounding refrain from the basses, the sopranos spinning their voices through the firm words. In these measures of time, the scene shifted in her mind. Instead of Downton, they were standing next to the Chicago river. It was now Charles who looked to be silently suffocating in his grief, quietly begging for a release from his pain even as he shoved all sorrow away, "_Be heard."_

A cloudburst ensued from the surrounding sections, droplets of hope falling into the anguishing sea that leaked across the stage's floor. _Crescendo_s mixed into the vocal storm forming as the overall dynamic level gradually poured past _mezzo-forte_. The river had given way to their hotel room, to the nights spent together in the space afforded to them this last week, to the times in which there was no expectation or demand. Only understanding existed in those precious few moments.

"_Let my love be heard."_

Beckoning the clouds to part for the sun, begging the overflowing grief to release its burdens from the sky, Elsie continued to look at the only person who mattered to her in this room. She continually pleaded in her mind with the man, voicelessly asking him to let his pain properly go much as she finally did that day in April.

It was one thing to tremble and cry, to cling to control and shiver through a tear or two.

It was another thing to let the wells of pain fully empty themselves.

"_Let my love be heard."_

His movements remained as steady as they could be in the hailstorm before them, pushing to lead their students with a gentle strength the piece deserved. The chorus trudged on through the loss the lyrics spoke of, every voice fortifying the sentiments whether it was through the words themselves or sounds.

"_Let my love be heard."_

For lyrics repeatedly uttered, each reverberation brought with it a different chord. Each echo called to it another form of the emotions present, another variation of the feelings that embedded themselves into the piece.

"_Let my love be heard," _A feverish power dripped into their cadence, the storm picking up in speed. It were as though they were standing outside in the middle of a growing tornado, intoxicating winds of voice swirling around the auditorium.

"_Let my love be heard," _Closing her eyes a moment, Elsie pushed back the sensation of standing in the darkness of 403. She turned away from the Chicago river and that bright sunny day. She shook off the memories that this song inherently clutched to, the pain that it unendingly ensnared, putting her attention toward nothing but the stage.

"_Let my love be heard." _The subtle shakes of her fiancé as he carried on, the tears now starting to stain his cheeks as he steadfastly continued to conduct, had her wanting to comfort him as best as he could. Had her wanting to break all the rules by striding over to him, pulling him into comforting embrace, and stopping the song in its tracks. This had been the moment in the song, all those months ago, in which she had nearly broke. In which her deadened stare had beckoned him to nearly sprint to the back of 403. The moment where the overpowering noises of suffering and grief and pain deafened everyone to everything but the message at hand.

Today, this moment only brought a plea for him to let go. A plea that faded into the emptiness of sound, a dissonance that came when resolution was nowhere to be found, where silence was the only noise in sight. The piece remaining unresolved, the chords diving into a _fermata _that commanded absolute attention as they all stood in the mournful grasp of nothing but empty pain. And though this was a competition, a show in which more than a thousand people sat captivated, in her eyes there were only twenty-seven people in a room built for 2,000.

Though, of those twenty-seven individuals, she found herself only able to care about one. An individual who was now deftly bringing their choir back to life. Who was staring grief right in the eyes and choosing to see the light hidden in the mournful cracks. The one person who was starting to recall the memories that overpower the pain, the nostalgia that stifles the anguish, the necessary tears that drown out the suppression, the silence that floods the shadows with a persevering acknowledgement.

"_Angels, where you soar_

_Up to God…"_

Ripples curved through the sopranos' words, ripples that gradually settled into another sea — this time, one that carried a faint optimism through its currents. There was no promise of a pain-free memory, of an angst-ridden nostalgia, of a freeing sound. There was only the understanding that there a connection — one through music, through meaning — that outlasts the suffering. That eased everything once it was given a chance to do so.

Once it was finally listened to.

"_Let my love be heard."_

Carefully guiding them through each beat of that last lyric, making sure to thoroughly absorb and lovingly refract each word with the harmonious consideration it deserved, his hands began to lower themselves back to his sides at last.

It was done.

They had given it their best shot.

And he had finally, _truly_ let go.

A thunderous applause takes hold of the crowd, the sudden movement almost jolting the director into action. She can tell that he'd lost herself to this piece, that he'd forgotten they had an audience. But, managing to discreetly wipe his tears away, Charles kept a proud and collected demeanour together as he turned to the crowd. Gesturing back to their students, sharing another look of delight with them, he joined the crowd in fiercely clapping away, so very, _very_ proud of them.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:52pm (CST) [7:52pm GMT]**

"Well done!" Isobel excitedly shouted, effortlessly being one of the first to start the choir's deserving ovation. "Well done, Downton!"

Cora, Albert, Beryl, they all gave way to similar cheers of encouragement, noticing that not a single eye in the auditorium was dry. Rightfully so, in the opinions of the chaperones.

"Have you heard them rehearse this before, Mrs. Patmore?"

"Not this song, no." Beryl had seen the sheet music and caught wind of why they had decided this was going to be a part of their competition set. But, strangely enough, it had never worked for her to see them rehearse this over the summer — something always got in the way. Still, instead of regretting that little fact, she felt it made hearing the song today even more impactful.

"Is Mr. Carson alright?" Glancing back at the choir director, Beryl observed the tell-tale signs of grief in the man's beam. But, knowing who was waiting for them back-stage, she knew it was going to be okay.

"He will be. It always takes a bit to conduct a piece like that."

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:53pm (CST) [7:53pm GMT]**

Adrenaline had flung itself mercilessly into Charles at the applause, rushing him out of his thoughts. Coolly recollecting himself in seconds, old habits never really did fade after all these years, he carried on through the ovation as graciously as he could. He turned it into a measure of time and movement: smile, clap in gratitude, mouth his thanks, turn to the students, gesture to them to elegantly make their way off stage, repeat. Eventually this would turn into him following them and making his own way off the stage. But, somehow, he didn't think he was genuinely up to the task. Still, he was a choir director and a performer who had to leave the stage. Thus, adjusting his _segno _to incorporate walking off as gracefully as possible, Charles forced himself to move - somewhat desperate to keep carrying on as though this were just another show.

So drawn into acting as graceful and professional as possible that when he made it past the myrtle curtains, now firmly out of sight from the audience, he'd collided into his fiancée's waiting arms. Jolting at the sensation of walking into her, not realizing she had remained backstage the entire time, he found his _segno_s of the last minute being tossed aside for a stilted uncertainty. Luckily, no other collisions had occurred — their students had been more aware of their surroundings and neatly avoided both choir teachers as they walked off-stage. Furthermore, the next competing choir was coming in through the other stage entrance, meaning that he didn't have to think about anything other than the fact that she was there and they had done it and he was not alone.

"Elsie" He eventually breathed out, the tears coming back as her arms soothingly wrapped themselves around him, requiring no explanation or request to know what was needed. Further words failed to make an appearance on his behalf as previously suppressed sobs fought their way to the surface, desperate to overtake the man. It was too much to conduct that piece, to face his emotions for what they were, to acknowledge all of his unspoken pain about the loss of his mentor, and then exit the stage as though nothing had occurred. And he really shouldn't have bothered trying to do so in the first place, but it had been _so _painful he'd felt he had no other option.

Charles could only be grateful that she was gently guiding him out of the path of other performers, quietly informing their students to return to their seats and watch the last few performances. He could only thank the fact that she understood perfectly well what he was experiencing, that her embrace was comforting as a gentle summer breeze, and that she would never judge him for what happened.

That in itself was more than enough to help.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 1:59pm (CST) [7:59pm GMT]**

Somehow, they managed to cross paths with one another after it was his turn to perform.

"Is everything okay?"

Danny had apparently managed to stay backstage after his act.

Not only that, he had noticed Mr. Carson having a breakdown in the corner with Mrs. Hughes.

But, at least the bass was discreet to the point of keeping the question purposefully vague, giving any eavesdroppers nothing to really work with.

"I think so." He personally didn't know anything for sure. But, whatever was going on, Mrs. Hughes was there and she'd already furtively gotten everyone to head back to their seats. Well, everyone except for him, that is. He'd been concerned enough to hang back for at least a minute. Mr. Carson wasn't his favourite teacher, but he'd recognized that look of grief on stage, hidden as it may have been. So, there was that.

"Well, it looks like your Mrs. Hughes is taking care of it."

With their moment in the lift earlier, the moment Baxter had spotted them and distracted Moseley from finding out their little secret, he'd been initially afraid to talk about it. Even though they'd had moments earlier this week where he'd thought there was something more, he didn't want to assume. And, then, he'd started babbling away in the lift, awkwardly trying to make up for his unintentionally rude behaviour. But, then, Danny had interrupted him as kindly as he could before informing him that, adrenaline aside, he'd been wanting to kiss Thomas for days and would he terribly mind if he just went for it?

He hadn't minded in the slightest. Hadn't minded any bit of it, really: that Danny definitely wants to be more than just friends, that it would have to be a long-distance sort of deal, it all worked for him.

That it worked for Danny, too, was just the icing on the cake.

"And now," The announcer cheerfully spoke from the stage, oblivious to the various conversations behind the curtains. "Representing Sweden twice in two days, let's all give another rousing welcome for The Bass Choir of Elkund & Martinsson's School of Music!"

"Should we leave now?"

"Not yet," The Texan protested, transfixed as he watched the choir in question make their way onto the stage. "I heard they're gonna do 'Sound of Silence' and I don't want to miss a second of it!"

Thomas shrugged to himself, not really in a Simon & Garfunkel mood. But, Danny's happiness was infectious and he found himself cautiously reaching out a hand, unsure of whether or not they could hold hands right now. Still, they'd just finished one hell of a song and he would take all the support he could get. And, based off their conversation from this morning, it would be okay to try this.

He really should've known it was going to be all right to hold hands. Should've realized that Danny would have been perfectly fine with the idea, that his Texan bass would even be so bold as to graze his lips against the back of Thomas' hand, deeply content with the situation.

Well, the good news was that he would be getting many opportunities to realize just what could be possible.

And, judging from the fact that Mr. Carson looked to be far more himself now that the performance was over, it looked like everything would really work out as much as it could.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 2:04pm (CST) [8:04pm GMT]**

_"O magnum mysterium,_

_O magnum mysterium, _

_Et admirabile."_

"Before you say anything, Mr. Carson," Alfred peeked up from his phone, having been more bored than he'd like to admit. Nothing against the choir at hand, they were really good. But, this sounded like a song Downton had done in the fall. In fact, he was pretty sure this was just another version of those same lyrics. So, even though it was a bit different, he was a little... well, bored. Though, that could've been because he was never really a big fan of the angelic choir sound in an old language where he couldn't really understand a word. Anyway, basically, when he heard Mrs. Hughes whisper, breaking the unspoken rules of concerts _and_ speaking to Mr. Carson of all people, the bass couldn't help but pay a lot of attention. "I still prefer Gjeilo's version. I like that Liam's chosen this for today, but I still prefer Gjeilo."

Much to Alfred's continued shock, the choir director only snorted in response at this. When everyone had finally returned to their seats to watch the rest of the show, he'd assumed everything would go back to normal but apparently that wasn't the case today.

_"Sacramentum et admirabile,_

_Et admirabile."_

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 2:12pm (CST) [8:12pm GMT]**

Anna Smith had experienced many emotions today. Fear of abject failure and suddenly feeling as she wasn't cut out for this in the slightest. Relief that she wasn't alone, that she had support and that Mrs. Butte was wrong. Anxiety that had raced alongside her stomach, constricting her shoulders and punching into her lungs the closer they'd gotten to performing. Exhilaration that had come when all the chords lined up into the magic that is singing.

But she hadn't felt peace.

Not until now.

_"Oh,"_

What a simple word. What a simple word to sing, and what an astonishing job the Queensboro Harmonizers did when they repeatedly painted the word into the air, their voices dipping into each respective note and binding it all together with a feather-light touch.

_"Fly," _As though they were wrens or finches taking to the skies, their ability to leap into the chords that floated before them was frankly amazing. Echoing that one word, _"Fly__,"_ as though it would bring them closer to the atmosphere, the New Yorker choir conveyed a sense of serenity Anna hadn't experienced in years, if ever.

_"Fly to_

_Paradise."_

And when each section took off, soaring through their respective notes and lifting their voices to meld into sweeping chords that stole her focus within heartbeats, she found contentment. A burden was brushed off her shoulders, her lungs were fully allowing themselves to drink in the refreshing air before them.

She could breathe again.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 2:17pm (CST) [8:17pm GMT]**

_"Oh, they tell me of a king," "Oh, they tell me of a king"_

_"Oh they tell me of a king in his beauty there,_

_They tell me mine eyes shall behold_

_In the city that is made of gold!"_

The choir that comprised Fermata Utah had made one of the best selections for a competition song today. All sixty voices all leapt to the heavens, slamming the air with gorgeous chords that stretched as far as the eyes could see. Each individual radiated a cherishing air that warmly pierced through the space, an empowering sense of belonging seeping into the air.

_"Oh! The land of cloudless days,_

_Oh! The land of an unclouded sky!"_

Tom exhaled in outright shock from the quality, wondering where in the world he could ever possibly find a home just like that. He didn't need a king or gold; he just wanted that innate sensation of belonging and knowing that he was genuinely a part of a community that truly understood him.

_"Oh, they tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise!  
Oh, they tell me of an unclouded day!"_

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 3:46pm (CST) [9:46pm GMT]**

Strangely enough, for all of the excitement that had trailed after the Competition Choir of Downton Abbey, there was an odd piece that had fallen over the group as they listened for the moment they'd all been waiting for.

"It gives me great pleasure to officially announce the final order of today's _a cappella _groups."

For something that had only taken an hour or so to complete, the judging felt as though it'd taken months to complete. Perhaps she was a bit more impatient than normal, but Cora Crawley couldn't help but wonder just how much longer things were going to take. And since they'd already completed the listings for the schools that had performed with accompaniment, the woman figured it was only a matter of seconds before they could get to the bottom of the _a cappella _rankings.

"In tenth place," _Here we go, _"'Pitches be Cray' from Becker's Prep, Minnesota."

Okay. One down, nine to go. They could do this and she knew that as well as she did her administrative tasks.

After the respectful applause for Becker's Prep had finished ensuing, "In ninth place, representing the state of Tennessee, The Women Ensemble of Aucoin Academy!"

It was getting easier for her to remember to breathe. Or, maybe, it was actually getting harder and she couldn't really tell. Either way, that only left seven places for Downton to take. _And_, they were already brilliant for being in the top ten.

"Now, in eighth place, joining us from the depths of South Dakota, congratulations to Donovan & Nielsen Tech!"

Yes, yes, it was hilarious that a choir had switched a traditional piece for "Bohemian Rhapsody". She'd probably even suggest something similar to Mrs. Hughes, once Mr. Carson had recovered from his inevitable shock. Now, could they just get a move on and tell everyone where Downton stood?

"In seventh place, hailing from Beaumont, Texas," _Excellent. _"The Men's Choir of Dahlberry Academy!"

Ah, yes, the choir with Thomas' new friend. Although Cora did feel a tinge of sympathy that the school hadn't placed any higher, it didn't looked to have impacted either Thomas or his friend all that much. Therefore, she felt no qualms about briefly applauding for them before focusing once again on the announcer.

"Now, in sixth place, traveling thousands of miles away from," _Oh, we can do better than sixth, Downton! _"Sweden, the Bass Choir of Elkund & Martinsson's School of Music!"

_Oh, thank God. _Refraining from bouncing in anticipation, beyond ecstatic that they had made it to the top five schools, Cora continued to wring her hands and eagerly await the results.

"In fifth place, coming from out of Utah and representing Rhea High School, Fermata Utah!"

_Perfect! _Nothing against Rhea High, she just wanted Downton to be the best. And, so far, that was becoming closer and closer to reality.

"In fourth place, journeying from across the pond,"

_FOURTH?! _

"The Competition Choir of Downton Academy!"

Her jaw dropped, eyes widening to resemble whole notes at their finest. Fourth was better than tenth or seventh or even fifth, but _seriously_? And, yes, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes looked to be beyond thrilled by these results, with almost all of their students screaming in delight, but _really_? Only _fourth_? With a _damn_ breathtaking song that was far worthier than any of the others, in Cora's not-so-humble opinion?

"Mama! We got fourth!" Sybil cheered, literally jumping up and down at the trophy Downton had managed to snag. It was the smallest of the bunch, much to the American's immense frustration, but it made her youngest daughter look as though she'd just won the lottery.

Mary, on the other hand, looked to be in a deep form of shock. Much more fitting, in the American's opinion.

"Yes, I heard!" It was all the mother could say.

Yeah, she'd need a minute to process this. And, yeah, congratulations to Domoto for scoring third, Queensboro for snagging second, and Henderson Institute's "Bell Street Trills" for obtaining first.

She'd still need a minute to process what had just happened.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 7:22pm (CST) [1:22am GMT]**

After a triumphant day for choral endeavours, it was decided that the only way to celebrate was for as many of the schools to gather at some local establishment in order to host a joint celebration.

Now, originally, _The Triple Trees _had seemed to be the perfect accommodation. However, it turns out that hotels will draw a line when it comes to the level of noise they will tolerate. Thus, what should have been a rowdy night spent at _The Triple Trees_ is, in fact, transforming into a raucous affair at — as one may have guessed — the closest _Lou Malnati's _pizzeria.

Something that a certain English choir director is quite unsurprised by, in retrospect.

He does recognize that he's already promised earlier this week to take his students to _Lou Malnati's_.

And by this point, he also realizes that it isn't as though they weren't going to hold him to this promise.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 8:09pm (CST) [2:09am GMT]**

"Please, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes! Can't you demonstrate just _one_ tag with the other teachers?"

Even though it was clear that her choir director looked like he wanted to remain tucked away in his corner with Mrs. Hughes, Rose really wanted to see them both perform this. She'd overheard some of the other American choir directors talk about it amongst each other, an idea of performing a few barbershop tags tonight. The four instructors in particular had been discussing how nice it was outside and that no one would pay them any mind if they sang a little bit while the night was young. And then, when they said it'd be nice to have a proper group instead of a quartet, that's when Rose knew she had to act. And though she could have opted for only cajoling them into giving it a go, she'd managed to actually move her teachers in the direction of the now bickering Americans.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," One of the four teachers had taken note of the unusual British trio, pausing to address the newcomers. "There's no pressure for you to join us."

"Thank you for that, Miss Cái." It looked like Mr. Carson was in total agreement with the Asian American woman, much to Rose's frustration. Still, that didn't mean he was finished speaking: "Besides, while Mrs. Hughes is well-versed in this realm of music, I confess to knowing very little."

"But, Mr. Carson," The aforementioned woman whispered a protest at this, a protest Rose almost missed due to its quiet nature. "You know 'Sleepy Time' — we sang it together for the students once!"

He didn't quite glare at her, but it was a close thing, that was for sure. Still, it hadn't changed anything for the others, not in Rose's opinion. The Americans looked to be ignoring Mrs. Hughes' protest if only to avoid pressuring Mr. Carson into joining them. Instead, the quartet was chatting amongst themselves about how they could personally improve themselves this time around. Or, rather, that's what the young soprano thought their conversation was supposed to be about. The real chat sounded more like this:

"Does anyone think we're a little flat at the end?" "You know, we could match vowels better if you're _actually _looking at us, Clar." "She'll get there one day. You've gotta admit though, this is still better than when we—" "Do we actually have to talk about that one time? I'm just pleased we eventually got it together. And, just for you, I'll stare right at each and every one of your beautiful faces 'till the tag is over." "That sounds more like it!"

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the young soprano, her two choir teachers were having a silent discussion of their own:

_Do you really feel uncomfortable? Because, as you said last night, I don't want you to feel obligated or forced to do anything._

_Just give me a moment. I don't feel obligated, truly. I'm just surprised by everyone's... enthusiasm._

_... If you say so._

Even though Rose was oblivious to the conversations of the teachers, she wasn't oblivious to the unexpected change in attitude. And so it was with an unadulterated beam of joy that she watched Mrs. Hughes turn back to the quartet of Americans to inform them, "I don't believe you got the ending right, but I do think it was only due to matching vowels. And I'm more than happy to help with that."

But that little tidbit of change was nothing in comparison to watching Mr. Carson nod to himself for a moment, looking quite determined about something before he interjected: "As am I. So, the words are 'When it's sleepy-time down South'?"

_Yes! _"Correct!" The grins were back in full-force now that both teachers had decided to join them. In fact, Rose found herself wanting to cheer that the various choir directors were working together in this way, that they all were going to witness a cool collaboration of sorts. "You can sing bass with Liam since we'll be in the women's key for this."

"Right. What are the bass notes?" Within seconds Liam was demonstrating the descent of musical notes representing the bass part of this little tag. Simple enough for anyone to tag along, which was something Rose confessed to being a bit interested in herself.

But, "You got started without us?" Leave it to Mrs. Patmore to bring Aunt Cora and Aunt Isobel into the mix, _and _to wheedle Mr. Mason into the group.

"Hardly," Mrs. Hughes retorted, a sharp smile on her lips as she beckoned the group forth. After such a lovely day, fourth place was quite the accomplishment for a first-time competing choir, nothing would stop her from enjoying the night, "We were just waiting for your return."

But, this wasn't the end of the newcomers:

"Can anyone join in?" It looked like Thomas had coaxed Danny into ditching his classmates for a moment to see if they could sing with the ever-growing group.

"Oh! I'd like to join in as well!" Beaming brighter than a stage light, Rose made her way over the group with glee. If Thomas and his unofficial boyfriend could join in on the fun, there was no reason she couldn't as well!

"I do believe it'd only be fair to let the students in, after all of their hard work," Mr. Carson said, the atypical acquiescence shocking everyone else into agreement. Never before had the students been able to partake in a musical exercise _alongside _their director, and certainly nothing like this.

So, naturally, many others rushed to join in as quickly as they could, somehow able to fit in the patio space afforded to them. It was tight but this was brilliantly different enough from their normal routine they were willing to make it work.

"Alright. We can still start with 'Sleepy Time', but I'm voting for either 'Ocean Breezes or 'Smile' next!"

"You do realize they probably don't know either of those, right?"

"Not yet they don't!"

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 10:01pm (CST) [4:01am GMT]**

"Tell me, Mr. Carson," He'd hardly expected Clar to approach him one final time, the woman having kept to herself throughout the night. In any case, what with Elsie not being around — having been pulled away by Beryl to head to the toilet together — he had no way of escaping the conversation. Not that he particularly wanted to anymore. After their previous conversation, he didn't feel the urge to run away from this particular American. "Were you able to get a reservation a—?"

"Yes, Miss Mag—" Charles trailed off, feeling a bit silly sticking to that formality after everything. They had struck some sort of friendship over the course of these last twenty-four hours, one that he wasn't entirely opposed to. Yet, he couldn't quite refrain from putting some sort of wall up, whether he truly wanted to or not. "I was able to get a reservation, yes."

She sighed in relief at this, a smile playing with the corner of her eyes, "I am delighted to hear that, Mr. Carson. I had been a little afraid that it would be too late, but I'm glad to hear it."

"Please," He hastily began, "By this point, Charles feels more appropriate."

How often did he work with someone to plan a romantic evening for his fiancée? American or not, if that scenario didn't bring their friendship to a given name basis, he wasn't entirely sure of what did. Not only that, the choir director found himself too drained this evening for that sort of conversation. Simply put: as happy as the man was to have gotten their choir to fourth place, he was ready to rest. To call it a day and give himself a break.

"That might take me a moment," Clar confessed sheepishly, "But I am honored to have that privilege."

"Well, I'm not sure how much of a privilege it is, Clarissa," Watching her smile widen into a contagious twinkle that lit up the woman's entire face, he knew that returning the favour had been cherished. "But, I do appreciate that. Even if I don't entirely agree with it."

She snorted a bit at this, mirth dancing in her gaze as she spoke, "Well, I can work with that."

And with the cheeky manner in which the Chicagoan spoke, one that contained hints of seriousness within its playfulness, he found himself faintly smiling in response.

It never would have been his intention to create a friendship with the woman.

But, he was glad to have done so.

_._

**Saturday, the 10th of August, 2019 - 11:37pm (CST) [5:37am GMT]**

She'd been looking forward to this new nightly ritual of theirs ever since she'd allowed herself to enjoy it. And now that the competition was officially over, they could finally allow themselves a newfound freedom with this budding routine.

"Oh, _Charles_,"

Or not.

This time, he was the one who has passed out on the bed when she stepped out from the bathroom. It made perfect sense but it'd still surprised her to discover that her man had wound up unintentionally knocking out. Still, having had to finish the last of their choral adventures this week by also interacting with other directors and students for an additional seven hours or so, well, it was no real wonder this was the case. Truthfully, she was bound to be out just like him in a minute, once she'd settled into bed and gave up on moving for the next seven hours.

Unfortunately, there was just one problem.

A not-so-little problem that did need to be dealt with as soon as possible.

See, Charles had collapsed in the middle of the bed and inadvertently taken up all of the mattress in the process. Which meant she had nowhere to collapse, unless she wanted to use him as her mattress. Which easily could've been an option, if it hadn't meant disturbing his very much-needed rest.

So, it was with a determination she would've reckoned impossible tonight that Elsie had not-so-gently put a hand on her fiancé and nudged him in the direction of his side of the bed. But, he'd only turned toward her touch, snuggling up a bit as though she were already beside him. It had somewhat touched her heart to be a witness to that little act, but her brain was far too worn out to truly appreciate the gesture.

Thus, more nudging that really bordered on fond shoving was cued.

Charles had only turned further in sleep, reaching out to lightly pull her towards him. It was this, and certainly not the fact that she was knackered beyond belief, that had her stumbling into the bed and onto her fiancé. And, truly, it spoke to the depths of his exhaustion that he hadn't even budged from his sleeping position at this. She found she could only give a muffled chuckle at this, one that dipped into hysteria at the sensation of her own exhaustion taking over. It seemed the stress of the week was at last giving way to the exaltation that came with _properly_ resting.

"My," A yawn had stopped the phrase right in its tracks, the rest of her thoughts drifting further into the drowsiness that came with this sort of crash. By some miracle, she'd yanked enough of the blanket free to cocoon them both, groggily burrowing into his embrace when she realized there wasn't really enough blanket for the both of them. But Elsie had barely made it past this moment before her weary body inevitably gave out and sleep finally, rightfully, claimed them both for the evening.

There, of course, no disturbances after that. Nor were there any sort of plans concocted for the evening. No reassuring sentiments were offered, no deals made on how to handle another night spent together, no chaste acts designed to soothe the mind, and no clothes to be stripped away and taken care of. Just two individuals inadvertently basking in one another's embrace. Two people who knew they would get chances for something more tantalizing down the road, who understood there'd be further chances to explore their relationship more thoroughly. There'd be times for more passionate evenings, to delve into an intimacy that only came when two people were as close as they could possibly be.

But, for now, they were content in this moment to sleep in each other's arms and simply exist.

Or, rather, they were far too knackered to even give anything else a thought.

_._

**Author's Note: **Ta-da! Only one chapter left :) Hope you've been enjoying the ride and did enjoy this last chapter! And, for those who may have been a bit disappointed we only got to fourth place, please note that (from someone who's been competing for a fair amount of time now) that's really impressive for a choir starting out. And while there are many advanced students in this choir, the choir as a whole is still new to competing, especially international competitions.

Also, having once had the experience of audience approval that Downton had (what with the slow-clap and all that jazz), it was far too precious not to share here. Granted, I'm fairly sure it wasn't because of my choir specifically, but rather because my choir was the first to start that particular competition [we were also officially the first female choir to ever perform at that event, but that's another story]. Still, I do admit I got a little indulgent on that one and hope you didn't mind.

Now, **explanation for why people may have seem a little OOC these last two chapters: **Imagine practicing for something on a daily basis for over three months. Specifically, that something is approximately fifteen minutes of singing that will hopefully give you an additional five minutes or so of performance. Now, take that concept and multiply it by the fact that you'll be in a new culture when you compete. That there's an adjustment in regards to time and location as well as the general atmosphere of the competition. Add to that the fact that you'll usually be interacting with only people who have also been practicing for at least a few months _**and **_you will spend approximately a week overthinking about whether or not you'll be able to stretch those fifteen minutes of performance into a victorious twenty. All in all, you have a recipe for a lot of stress (of both the distress and eustress variety) and you're going to end up doing things you didn't expect.

For example, I once bolted (as safely as I could, mind) through about three blocks of traffic in order to make sure that I would be on time to witness a friend's performance at a competition. I've also witnessed many ranges of emotion in especial regards to competing over the years (from the full-on breakdowns to the opposite end of the spectrum). When you're caught in that whirlwind, it's easy to forget yourself and what you'd normally do. Hence, why people probably came off as a little out-of-character.

Now, because of the wait with this chapter, I intend on getting the "Sunday" chapter out by this weekend instead of next Wednesday. Worst-case scenario, it should be posted by next Wednesday (the 9th). In any case, I hope you have a lovely day and have enjoyed this!


	8. Breezy Seas and Fond Memories

**In Response to the Guest Reviewer of the Previous Chapter: **Thank you! And, I have to admit: that was a beautifully written review. Like, I can't stop beaming now that I read it.

**Author's Note:** Ladies and gentlemen, we made it through the week! This last one will contain not only Chelsie but also some shout-outs to a certain Christmas special. So, yes, we are finally getting some essential resolution and we even get to have a little fun with more references.

**Technical Note: **For once, _"Writing like this." _will not reference singing in this chapter. It will only reference memories.

**Time-Stamp Note: **I intentionally left out the time-stamps for this chapter because it is their day-off.

_._

**Sunday, the 11th of August, 2019**

He couldn't recall how they ended up getting wrapped in both the blanket and each other. But, waking up to Elsie Hughes in his arms had Charles Carson sighing in contentment.

What a different world this last year had been.

What a different world that had defied all of his expectations for the better.

Adjusting his hold on his fiancée, the man continued to breathe in the feeling that came with her still fast asleep. The tendrils of hair normally tucked away in a professional bun, the delightfully relaxed posture that hadn't resurfaced until now, her slow and steady breathing that spoke of a deeply restful slumber. Charles would wake her up in a moment. But, for now, he felt absolutely satisfied with softly running a hand through her hair and curling the other hand around her in contentment.

Today was going to be amazing.

That, he already knew.

_._

Although Lake Michigan was not an ocean, it could fool many a visitor otherwise. With water that stretched far beyond the eye's capability, one could almost trick themselves into believing they had somehow made it to the Atlantic or the Pacific. And with a breeze that drifted through the sandy plains of the North Avenue beach, a tranquility not normally found in urban life could be unearthed. Add to that the numerous Divvy bikes of the city that smoothly cruised by on the Lakefront Trail, the children rambunctiously running about every spot they could at the shoreline, as well as the lively groups chattering away in the late morning's glow, and the serenity that sank into the beach was infectiously wonderful.

"And they even have ice cream!" Beryl remarked to herself, not necessarily surprised but still pleased, nevertheless. Eyeing a nearby ice cream vendor with more than a little excitement, she began to make her way over to acquire the delectable treat.

But, first, a quick inspection to make sure all their students were safe and enjoying themselves.

It really was quite a lovely sight, skimming the scene before her and seeing everyone at ease. She could spot their students mingling with some of the other choirs that had managed to persuade their directors into tagging along. Phyllis was chatting away with some of the other young women in the sand, Moseley and Andy playing a rowdy game of frisbee with some of the other Americans. Anna and John were meandering nearby, Sybil and Tom trying to persuade Cora and Isobel to race into the water with them whereas Matthew and Mary wandered around a bit down the official path. Thomas and his friend Danny looked be to ambling about, O'Brien irritatedly watching them from a distance. Charlotte Williams, Alfred, and Isabel Johnson were trying to convince William, Evelyn Portillo, Robert Thompson, Jimmy, Gwen, and Harold Lowe to actually dip their feet in the waves. Daisy and Septimus bantering back-and-forth with a gleeful Gladys. And even Elsie and Charles were strolling about in the faint distance, having been shooed away by the other chaperones to enjoy the lakefront.

All in all, almost everyone looked to be enjoying themselves in their own special ways.

"I've saved us a spot on the sand. If you're interested, that is." Leave it to Albert to have already read her mind and have two chocolate ice cream cones waiting for them before she'd even made it to the vendor. She'd been distracted by watching Alfred not-so-subtly splash Jimmy with a whole lot of water, finding the action to be hilarious enough she'd momentarily forgotten about obtaining her treat.

"I'd love that," Not really thinking the words through, intent on watching to make sure no trouble broke out amongst the tenor and the bass, Beryl jolted a bit at the sensation of a waffle cone entering her outstretched hand.

"Me, too." He confessed, amused by her reaction when she finally realized what she'd said. The woman turned to him, his words also catching up to her at last. But, she didn't try to backtrack or change what she'd said. There was no need to alter or amend her sentiment because it had been the truth. And she had the funniest feeling that he understood.

Not only that, but that he really did agree.

_._

"Do either of you want some ice cream? I'm craving it right now."

"No, thank you, Daisy." "No, thanks!"

The young soprano nodded to the pair, "I'll be right back."

Warmly smiling up until the point that Daisy left, Gladys took a chance to broach a conversation she'd been dying to discuss with Septimus ever since yesterday:

"You know, I would say it'd be pretty hypocritical for someone who regularly hands out cheeky material like CJ does to lecture other people about stirring up trouble." She was, of course, referring to the moment that Septimus had interrupted between her and the Americans yesterday morning.

"Well, I like to think that, whoever CJ is, they aren't inclined to stir up trouble so much as share witty material with the world." Septimus quickly shot back, feeling a bit on edge now that Gladys was persisting in prodding him about that secret identity. It'd been months since their last conversation, the brief one at that competition, and she'd left the subject alone for the most part. So, why did she have to bring it up now? When he considered the amount of gossip she indulged in, he couldn't help but feel more than a bit apprehensive about the subject.

"Oh, relax, it's not like I'm going to tell the whole school who CJ is." With a glance to the shoreline, "I just think it's funny that, for all of the guesses people have thrown out over the years, no one would ever guess that _I _am friends with CJ."

He turned at this in incredulity, "We're friends?"

She snorted in disbelief, not quite offended but definitely amused, "Well, what else would you call it? Mutual acquaintanceship?"

_._

Upon realizing he'd never actually thanked her for what she did yesterday, Thomas had been struggling a way to briefly leave Danny and privately thank Baxter for her actions. It's not that he wanted to leave Danny; it was just that he wanted to speak to the alto one-on-one. Fortunately, "Did you ever get a chance to thank your friend for distracting that classmate yesterday?"

"Actually," He really did appreciate Danny. And he was only now just beginning to realize how much that was the case. "I haven't had a chance just yet."

"Really? Well, I think that's her over there." Thomas nodded in agreement that Danny had correctly identified Baxter, "If you'd like, I can grab us a snack or ice cream while you go talk to her."

Chuckling, somewhat enjoying the fact that the bass had long since concluded Thomas was going speak to his classmate, the baritone nodded: "I'd like that."

"Great! I'll be back in a little bit, I think I spotted a vendor that way," And with another discreet peck on the lips, the Texan began to motion for Thomas to go chat with Phyllis.

Well, who was he to argue with that?

When he'd finally made his way over to her, she had been left alone. No Moseley, no new friends from other schools, just her and the sand beneath her.

"Is everything all right, Thomas?"

_Of course you're concerned about everything being all right. _He resisted the urge to scoff at this, having known the alto's character for years. Instead, he settled for crouching down to briefly sit on the sand, looking at her for a moment before averting his gaze to the sea.

"Thank you for," _For not acting harshly. For not shunning me the second you saw what happened. _"For distracting him yesterday."

She calmly nodded, understanding what he was talking about. In all honestly, she had been pleased that there had been something to distract Joseph from. And it wasn't just because it happened to provide her with a reason to finally admit her feelings. No, it was also because it meant that Thomas was doing something different for himself, something that brought him to a better part of the world.

"Will there be anymore opportunities for distraction?" Phyllis lightly put the question to him, knowing him well enough to know that this was a sensitive subject. But, she also knew him well enough that she felt comfortable pushing the subject more than normal.

"I think so." He confessed, a bit of a smile playing with his eyes. "I really think so."

Which, speaking of, the Texan was already running back into sight: "Thomas! So, so, _so_ sorry, but what's your favorite ice cream?"

Rolling his eyes at this, "Surprise me!"

"Don't get mad when I choose something you don't like!" She didn't quite snort at this, but she did smile as the baritone blushed at the attention, rising to his feet.

"I've gotta go after him." This time, she did snort at the apprehension in his voice. But, apprehension or not, he looked to be thinking about something a bit more seriously, turning back to her.

"One thing, Phyllis," Her curiosity was pulled by the soft intensity in his voice, something she hadn't expected. "When it comes to Moseley,"

"Yes?"

"I think you know what's best." It was a quiet statement, one that lacked any of the normal sarcasm or defense. It surprised her to hear him speak this candid or considerately, but she didn't draw away. "The hard part for you is doing it. But," Pausing once more, brushing some of the sand off if only because admissions like this were difficult and he needed something to do while he spoke, "I know you can."

The alto drew his words toward her, inhaling the sentiment for a moment before she finally spoke again, needing to respond:

"Just like you, Thomas. Just like you."

He remained still for a moment, as taken aback by her words as she with his. But, then, something changed for him. And, turning to his classmate once more, he gave her a faint and somewhat understanding smile. There was trepidation lurking behind his eyes, hesitation to just trust the situation for what it could be.

But it was enough.

_._

Joseph Moseley was many things. A decent baritone, a plucky individual, the occasional and unintentional comic relief, it all depended on the time of day and what was going on. He was now also someone who'd finally experienced their first kiss. Not only that, he was someone who _really _liked his best friend. And was very, _very _grateful he could experience that moment yesterday.

Which is why he was plopping down on the sand with intention, wanting to make sure to enjoy at least a few minutes with her before he wound up playing more frisbee or football. The pair had already talked about _that_ moment yesterday — and she'd explained that, even though Thomas had prompted it, she'd been wanting to do that for months now.

"Can you believe the week it's been?" Joseph confessed, a little winded by all the physical exertion from this morning on top of the emotional whirlwind that was this week.

"I know."

The baritone chuckled a bit at this, glancing at her and deciding it was worth it to try reaching a hand out across the sand. He found himself blushing a bit at the sight, not sure what he was supposed to do. But, she'd taken it. And that gave him the courage to say this next bit, something that'd been bothering him since yesterday.

"I may have given you strength to sing," It's something she mentioned yesterday, in-between everything else, "But you've given me the strength to even try this."

Gesturing to his hand, he looked up at the alto with a great deal of vulnerability. He was still so unsure of their relationship, having never had anything like it before. And he liked Phyllis so much that he didn't want to mess it up, didn't want to somehow lose this chance with her because he'd done something silly or messed up as a boyfriend.

She smiled at his candour, gently closing the distance between them as she gave him another reassuring kiss. Though, he seemed like he still needed some time to process that he was actually kissing his best friend. Much like yesterday, it'd left him gaping and agog as though he were in some pleasant version of shock.

Well, that's why they would take this one step at a time.

_._

They'd been strolling through the sand when it'd happened. She had been wary of the outing as a whole, definitely not normally inclined to visiting the beach. He had been all for soaking up the sun and dipping through the sandy flatlands around them. But, then, a volleyball was accidentally smacked their way. Speeding toward them far at a rate far past _moderato_, the ball mercilessly collided into a small hill of sand nearby and sprayed them with the particles in the process.

"Oh, you must be joking," Mary irritatedly muttered to herself, crouching to the ground in a fit of vexation. The volleyball had almost ruined their clothes and now the deviant players in question were only lightheartedly laughing at the scene as they asked for the object back. Clearly, the strangers were ignorant to the fact that their actions were _not _wanted.

"Here, let me—" The soprano was already lifting the ball up with a practiced ease, slamming the palm of her hand into the object and sending it shooting back down the path of the volleyballers without another thought. And, yes, she had imagined it was Cindy Paisley's smug little face with her ridiculously arrogant demeanour at breakfast — the demeanor that Matthew had been quite unaware of.

Yes, it had to be arrogance. Why else had the insufferable American been so chipper for a second day in a row? Especially after winning third for her own choir? And when Miss Paisley had continued to hang about them, pestering Mary with questions while blushing in the direction of Matthew, the English soprano had had enough.

She'd just refrained from reacting until now.

"Nice hit!" The volleyball players were apparently oblivious to her intentions to intimidate them and simultaneously release her anger about the situation.

Matthew, on the other hand, was not.

"What?"

He had been observing her calmly, hadn't even said anything by the time she was snapping that one word in his general direction.

"Oh, nothing," Remaining perfectly calm, "I just can't help but wonder what that volleyball did to you to deserve that treatment."

"And I can't help but wonder what the _dazzling_ Miss Paisley did to convince you she's a flawless person."

_Ah. I know what's going on. _Well, there was nothing like addressing the issue head-on:

"You do realize she's not interested in me, right?"

"Well, then, who could she possibly be interested in?" He simply fixed her with a knowing look, one that she didn't care for, "I'm not sure what joke you're making. But, it's not funny, whatever it is."

"I'm not joking, Mary. I really do think—"

"_No_. That couldn't be possible." For one, if Matthew's assertion was correct, that meant this last week's interactions were all quite different than what Mary had believed. Which meant she'd been wrong about the situation.

And Mary Crawley was _never _wrong.

"I am afraid," Not that he really was. Quite the opposite, in all honesty. "That she even approached me earlier with a question as to your orientation. Your sexual orientation, that is."

This time, when the volleyball was accidentally sent their way again, she'd been so shocked by his admission that Mary had been smacked in the face with it.

A fact that Matthew would continue to lightly tease her about for the days to come.

_._

Turns out, the ice cream queue was taking longer than Daisy had anticipated.

"Daisy!" _Why are you talking to me? _"It's so hilarious that we're both here getting ice cream!"

"I mean," She didn't really turn to the American boy — Ethan was his name, if she remembered it right — who had approached her for a third time in two days. He was nice enough, but she didn't really care to make any new friends right now. In fact, all she really wanted right now was her ice cream. "If you think about how most of the choirs are here today, it's not really that surprising."

"Yeah, I guess so." And even though he guessed so, he still wasn't leaving her alone. "Anyway, my choir's gonna go on a tour of the UK soon, so maybe we'll get a chance to see each other-"

"No, I don't think we'll get that chance." He was sweet enough, but she really didn't get why he had an interest in her. And, she _really_ wanted that ice cream because August weather in Chicago was really hot and humid, and she'd been craving this all week. And singers weren't supposed to indulge in dairy products like ice cream and so she had to go the _entire _week without it. "I'm sure we'll both be too busy."

That apparently was the wrong thing to say, "Please, don't think about how busy you might be! Just, consider the idea."

_Oh, why can't someone interrupt this like in the movies? _"Okay. I suppose I can do that."

Emboldened by her words, even if it wasn't all going according to plan, "You know why I asked you right?"

Well, yeah. She had a faint idea, even if she had pretended otherwise in front of William, "I think I do, yes."

"I wasn't trying to scare you or anything, but maybe we could try something?"

Yeah, she really just wanted ice cream.

But, there was someone else coming to mind, someone else who might enjoy the chance.

"I have a feeling we want different things, Ethan. But, I think I might have a friend who might be interested in seeing you when your choir visits."

"But, I wanted to see _you_." In other context, that might have sounded creepy. However, Daisy had the feeling that Ethan was really only infatuated with her being British and her doing well this weekend, competition-wise. And the way he was speaking to her, it was less like a person trying to take advantage of her — which she'd witnessed over the years — and more like a puppy-dog who didn't know how to temper their enthusiasm.

So, yeah. Ivy might really enjoy that.

But, before anything else could help, "Mrs. Patmore! Mr. Mason! Are you getting ice cream, too?"

"We already had our fill, Daisy." _Well, at least you're here now._

Turning to Ethan, "Just think about it, all right?"

He nodded. And, then, realizing that they would both still be in the queue for ice cream and stuck awkwardly standing next to each other, Daisy made a monumental sacrifice on her part:

"Mrs. Patmore, I've a question about the flight tomorrow!"

She left the ice cream line in order to gracefully-ish leave Ethan's presence and find another vendor with a lot less people.

"Oh, what is it?"

But, only once they were out of earshot did she confess: "I didn't really have any questions. I just didn't want to keep talking to him."

Sighing a bit, "I see. Did you make _any _new friends while you were here?" Glancing at both her teacher and her friend's dad, she realized she'd be better off just going solo for her hunt for ice cream.

"Not exactly. Actually, I'm supposed to be getting ice cream for Septimus and Gladys." That wasn't exactly true, but she really did want some ice cream. "Thanks for the help!"

So much for making new friends in a new country...

_._

It started like so many other splash wars before it:

Once the authority figure left, in this case meaning that once Cora had decided it was time to leave the water and join Isobel by the shore, chaos broke loose.

"Jimmy," Alfred had started innocently enough, getting the tenor to turn toward him before the bass had splashed him for a second time that day.

Now, it wasn't the fact that Alfred had taken him by surprised once again that pushed the tenor to retaliate.

It was the fact that, this time, his hair been absolutely _ruined _by the water.

"You'll be regretting that, Nugent!"

And what had started out as a battle between two classmates had turned into a war involving several more. Tom, Sybil, Evelyn, Charlotte, Gwen, casualties of a watery nature brought in more and more participants. This was to the point that, upon realizing she was winded from playfully hurling water at her opponents, Sybil called for a personal time-out by swimming out of reach. And when Tom had realized his friend was no longer caught in the heat of this battle, he, too, decided it was time to take a step away.

"So, what do you think of everything now that the competition is over?"

She'd been wanting to ask him that for quite some time, having been a little worried that this new town had suddenly won her friend over. That, she'd no longer have a chance for their amazing conversations, that she would no longer had an opportunity to enjoy the company of someone who _really _got her.

"Well, actually, I realized something yesterday."

This sounded different than all their other chats this week. She didn't know what he had realized, and she couldn't if this was a good or bad realization.

All she could do was support him as best as she could.

"Oh?" He nodded, looking unusually hesitant to speak. And that same something that seemed a little different was making an appearance, causing her to look at him strangely. It really wasn't starting to feel like a _bad _something, if his expression was anything to go by.

"It's just, as much as I do like it here — because I haven't been able to explain it, but I _really _like it here — there's something else. Something back home that I don't know if I could leave behind."

"What's that?" Sybil curiously asked, sensing a change in the air as the baritone came closer and closer to her. Originally, she thought it was maybe the Irish culture he'd regret leaving behind. But, no, she'd heard a lot about how Chicago had one of the largest Irish communities in the States. So, maybe it wasn't that.

Still, it couldn't _possibly_ be what she was hoping it was.

"Well," He glanced up from looking at the waters, eyeing her shyly in the process and unintentionally letting his gaze drift to her lips. Now only half a feet away, she found herself mirroring the action, hoping she was right about his feelings. And as she tilted her head in inquisition, her heartbeat picking up in pace, an enormous wave toppled them over before he could respond — the water swooshing over them without a care in the world.

Turns out, they were totally okay. More shocked by the water than anything.

But it also turns out that Sybil realized she needed to know the truth. And that her patience was lacking just a little more than normal at the moment.

"It's just," Once again, Tom was trying to tell her what was on his thoughts. And, though she was normally all for letting someone speak uninterrupted, she spotted another wave in the distance that was going to send them crashing down once again. And if she didn't act soon, they might be stuck in this loop of conversation for more time than either of them wanted.

"Yes?" Perhaps asking him would prompt a quicker reaction.

"Well, it's just," Turns out, that didn't really help. "I— I,"

She stunned him into silence by gently putting a hand on his chest, feeling a bit emboldened by the fact that they didn't have much time. He looked up at the action, uncharacteristically demure but still receptive to the action.

"I don't mean to cut you off," Sybil quietly whispered, her hand still resting on him, catching the rise and fall of _adagio. _"But, there's a wave coming our way and I don't want it to crash into us before I've done this."

_._

"Mrs. Patmore, have you seen Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes?"

Eyeing Gwen to see if there was an emergency in the young woman's presence and deciding there wasn't, "Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes will be back in a little bit. Is there something I can do?"

"I was just curious, that's all." The young soprano confessed, "I wanted to make sure they didn't get lost in the crowd or something."

Smiling at Gwen's concern, "They're perfectly fine, Gwen, though I thank you for that concern." _And, with any luck, they'll actually be enjoying themselves for once… _"Did you want to take a seat nearby?"

"I'd like that very much, thank you."

_._

"Did I ever tell you that I'm glad you were there?" Anna didn't need to specify which part of the adventure she was talking about. And, though her words produced a darker cloud over the pair of them than the blend of teal and pearls above, she knew it needed to be said.

"I just wish you didn't feel like you had to hide that from me," John confessed, looking at her. "I knew it'd been bad, but I didn't Mrs. Butte had been _that _cruel."

"Sorry," She began, but he shook his head.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Anna." He earnestly continued, "What that woman did is unforgivable, but you have nothing to apologize for."

She nodded quietly, not fully believing him but willing to listen.

"Well, I do think I could've handled it better, back on Friday." He didn't shake his head in disbelief, even if he didn't think it necessary she felt guilty about this. Falling apart during a stressful time was perfectly normal. It hadn't surprised him that it'd happened — who knew how many times something similar had happened to him. "So, is there anything I can to make up for that?"

Slowing them down to a complete stop, the baritone gently turned the soprano toward him so that they were squarely meeting one another's gaze.

"You can forgive yourself for something that's not your fault."

She froze at the sincerity that radiated within his placid tone. Found herself trembling a little at the words, still not sure if her supposedly terrible singing ability really wasn't somehow her fault. Thought he was being too kind, even if there was probably truth within his words.

"I don't think I can do that, John, not yet." Needing a distraction, not ready to face the reality of what happened this spring, she glanced off and spotted something worthy of note. "But, I can buy you some ice cream."

It felt a weak offering in her opinion, but she couldn't fully acknowledge her feelings about this, not yet. Maybe, once she managed to distance herself a bit more from everything that happened last semester.

In any case, he understood. Understood and held no judgment in his eyes — knowing what it was like to be unfairly called out for something, to be treated terribly by those who were supposed to help you grow. And, so, he didn't say anything to the contrary. Instead, the young man nodded his approval, the pair proceeding off in the direction of the delicacy at hand.

There'd be future conversations about this, no doubt. And there'd come a day in which she would be ready to face it for herself, face it and come to terms with the reality — that it really wasn't her fault, that Mrs. Butte had truly been an unworthy teacher.

But this was today. And if he'd learned anything about life in general, it was about taking any "today" one moment at a time. The future could be determined by these moments, but it was still the future. Today, the right here and the right now, was the only thing guaranteed to them. And, so, he would do his very best to meet her right where she was and grasp today as fully as he could. He couldn't guarantee success, but he would do his best.

_._

They had finally made it.

Stepping out onto the soothing sprinkles of sand before her, Elsie let the week's tension roll off her shoulders as the waves tenderly brushed up against her feet. And it was with a sweet exhalation of relief that she basked in the lake's breeze, the wind sweeping past her sundress and off into the distance. The tickling rays of the sun caressed her face, strands of her hair lifting off into the air as the cool depths of the lake beckoned her further.

She wouldn't go too far though, not without him.

Feeling more than hearing his approaching step, a gentle cadence that faithfully traced her own path through the sand, she remained standing with her back to him. He didn't heave a sigh of shocked relief at the sensation of the waves, nor did he demand that they return to where the others sat. The former was probably because he'd long since learned to control his own breathing techniques, the latter because they both knew they'd get yelled at for trying to chaperone on their only real day-off.

Still, she didn't want to stay like this forever. Standing in the calm of the shore was lovely. But, with Charles by her side, she wanted to enjoy _his _company more than the lake's.

_Right. _Ignoring the fact that her thoughts held more of his voice these days than ever before, she turned to her fiancé, so very grateful for what this week had been. And it was with a freeing peace of mind that she let his arms envelope hers — the sensation twirling her about in the water. And drifting out into the refreshing tides of Lake Michigan, they continued to wade into the beautiful possibilities. Continued to embrace the fact that this was only just the beginning for them.

Of course, just because this was the beginning for them didn't mean they were going to solely focus on their relationship:

"Where do you suppose we ought to take them tonight?"

When he didn't immediately respond, she realized he had taken on a sheepish air. And it was that sheepish that brought her away from the breeze and toward a sense of tentative dread.

"Charles?"

The fact that he needed a moment to gather himself was far more concerning than what he would eventually say, "Actually, I wasn't planning on taking them anywhere tonight."

Naturally, there could only be one reaction:

"What_ exactly _do you mean you were planning on taking them anything tonight?"

_._

"Mrs. Patmore,"

Sighing to herself, she turned to Alfred Nugent and guessed what his question was going to be:

"Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are perfectly fine. The chaperones have decided to give them the day off which is why you've not seen them today on the beach. All right?"

"Erm, that's great. But I was wondering if you knew where the toilet was?"

_... Why do I even bother?_

_._

Isobel Crawley placidly observed all the proceedings with an enchanted air. Seeing their students bond, watching their colleagues and fellow staff members enjoy themselves, it all made for quite the lovely sight. And though she was beginning to long for familiar scenery, she had cultivated a fondness for Chicago, she could admit that.

"Aren't we lucky?" Isobel put to her companion, her mind at ease. "A gorgeous day spent in the sun with amiable company, what could more one ask for?"

"First place." Chuckling a bit, thinking that Cora had been joking, Isobel let the wind carry out her laughter far past the shoreline. When her fellow administrator hadn't joined in on the mirth, she did glance in Cora's direction, wondering what the American was thinking.

It now looked like she had been quite serious.

"Well, we can't have everything."

"Can't we?"

And suddenly, Isobel had an even stronger longing for Violet's company. Even if the English woman would've expressed similar opinions as the American, she would have delivered said opinions in a slightly witter fashion. One that might've eventually coaxed laughter from Isobel, if only hours later when Violet had long since left her company.

_._

"Now, Charles," She'd been brimming with curiosity ever since the conversation on the beach, but he remained insistent that the subject wouldn't be addressed just yet. "According to Beryl, the students are having dinner at the hotel, everyone is accounted for, and nothing has been set on fire. Will you _kindly _tell me where we're going?"

They had meandered near the hotel, enjoying the sight of children sliding down the Picasso Statue and the overall beauty of the Daley Plaza. One of the simpler plazas of the city, with a tasteful fountain area and some more beautiful skyscrapers surrounding it, it felt a suitable place to walk to. Pedestrians strode back and forth on Washington Street, cars careened as much as they could at rush hour, and the ethereal haze of dusk settle upon the city.

"I'm afraid I can't reveal where our reservation is just yet."

"So we _are _planning on eating somewhere? Well, that's reassuring." There was only a little bite in her tone, curiosity far outstripping most of her frustration. Nevertheless, he did give a hesitation chuckle at this, looking as though he hoped this would all work out. "Now, am I to guess where we're dining tonight?"

"Not quite. Elsie, would you humour an old fool by closing your eyes and holding on?" Hardly questioning his intentions, she still arched an eyebrow.

"That's enough of that 'old fool' nonsense, thank you." Looking properly chastened by her words, the woman took a little pity on him. Still, there was a slight trepidation, if only because of one detail in particular: "You want to walk with me through the downtown area of Chicago with my eyes_ closed_?"

Looking unusually sheepish once again, "I don't want to ruin the surprise."

"And when a car runs me over by mistake?" Though, her eyes were already closing, the woman moving as close as she dared to her fiancé and linking arms. It was a soft yet resolute hold they maintained, one that would allow her to wander through the city essentially in his arms. His left arm intertwined with her own, his right circling around her waist to envelope her in that delightful sensation of steadiness. And with an atmosphere reminiscent of that afternoon spent on the Skydeck, she couldn't help but know that this would be perfectly safe.

"I would never allow that." Elsie gave a hint of laughter at this, content to walk alongside him if it allowed for them to be this intimate. Mind, she wouldn't openly encourage him to do this on a daily basis; walking like this with her eyes open would suit her perfectly fine. Still, as the twilight hours began to properly descend upon the city, she hardly needed her eyes open to know what it all looked like. Rather, she could let herself rest her head on his shoulder, calmly imagining the stunning reflections of the sun that the skyscrapers held. There was the clinks of her heels on varying pavement, countless conversations that sauntered on by, and she even felt the shadows of the street lamps dancing in her eyes as they remained faithfully closed.

"I understand why you love it here," Having been satisfied with listening to the _andantino _pace that was his heartbeat, the chatter of city life blanketing them in a serene anonymity, Elsie felt her lips quirk in appreciation. Perhaps he was now seeing the reverberations of light that danced across the city's skyline, the fading light embroidering the city in a misty, golden shimmer. Maybe he was just absorbing the overall eclectic atmosphere that was Chicago.

Either way, "I'm glad."

They carried on, just another couple in the crowds, drifting through the pavement. She felt a grounding concrete beneath her feet soon give way to an intricate bridge, tightening her hold on him out of instinct. But her trust remained ever-present, with the reassuring sounds of the lake trickling back into her mind and reminding her this was all perfectly safe. The half-embrace they maintained, one that allowed them to meander about the city in peace, had her lose sense of anything except for the fact that she was very grateful for this evening.

Eventually, the pair came to a stop. She couldn't quite catch distinguishing noises or sounds; no clues laid before her to inform the woman of where they were. The chatter that swept by them was fairly average, the crowds conversing about all sorts of matter. Shopping, business, the train systems, school trips, there was no distinguishing clues that would solve this mystery.

Still, wherever they ended up, she knew that it would be perfect.

"You can open your eyes now." Charles quietly informed her, a nervous air dipping into his tone. Waiting another few seconds, wanting to absorb this tender surprise for all she could, Elsie slowly opened her eyes and proceeded to gape.

_Oh, my— _"Charles, we have a reservation for _here_?"

The John Hancock Center regally stood before them, the 100-floor building grandly marking its spot right across the street from the Water Tower Place and the original Water Tower. Elegance radiated from each floor, a sense of grace entwining into the decades-old metal. And without having to give the matter any thought, she knew what brought them here. There was only one restaurant that she knew of in this stunning building, one possible venue for tonight's dinner:

The Signature Room at the 95th floor.

_._

_Home really is quite beautiful._

Clarissa Magnussen had already known this for years. But, being able to look out into the city and observe the lights sparkling across the urban night sky was still quite the treat. Nothing like the treat that would come from seeing at the top of the Sears or looking out from the Hancock. But it was still a treat, nevertheless.

Which, speaking of the Hancock, she found herself wondering how Elsie and Charles were faring. It was very likely that they'd already reached their destination and would now be looking out through the glassy walls of the 95th this very moment. That, whether or not they were seated right next to the glass or given a table toward the stunning center of the restaurant, they would still have a grand view of the city.

All of which spoke of a lovely experience. And, of course, unlike her own excursion up the 95th, they didn't have to contend with a thunderstorm raging across Lake Michigan. While _that_ had been something she'd gotten a kick out of when she'd been up there, it was also something that would probably deter a fair amount of people from having fun had they been in her shoes.

_Well, it had been memorable. _And, with any luck, the couple would have as much fun being up there as she did. If anything, the height of the building and the magnificent view it had would win over Elsie. Charles, on the other hand, would hopefully be won over by the stylish structure of the restaurant as well as the consideration and quality of the meal itself.

"So, did you actually _want_ to show us the city tonight, Clar?" A teasing comment had her turning away from the hotel window in fondness, the woman lightly glaring at Elena and Joylin as they waited in the doorway. "Or did you want to celebrate Liam's success in the hotel?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I think it's time to introduce you all to pizza pot pie!"

Grinning in exasperation, "Here we go again."

"_What_? It's the best form of pizza on Earth! _And,_ I say that with deep-dish being taken into consideration!"

_._

Even though Elsie had been overcome with an incredible elation upon seeing the final part of this evening's adventure, that didn't mean she wanted to race upstairs and plough through a delicious meal. What it did mean, however, was that she wanted to share her appreciation for this before they were caught up in the atmosphere of fine-dining. Because, if she knew her fiancé as well as she believed, he would be transfixed with elaborating on the culinary arts before them. And, furthermore, she knew they would both feel unwilling to be publicly affectionate with one another with strangers in such close proximity.

So, now was as good a time as any to convey her appreciation.

Having wrapped her own arms around his neck upon opening her eyes, drawing out the feeling that came with these moments in which they were just Charles and Elsie, they shared a sun-tinged kiss in the evening haze of the city lamps. And with the invigorating taste that came with being this carefree, the breezes of the past soothingly drifted around them, delightful memories continuing to take their latest stresses away.

Breaking apart eventually, starting to enter the revolving door that would let them reach their destination, "That was quite the adventure. But, I admit, opening my eyes to see this? To finally join you once again by looking out into this sight, just us two? It's quite touching and I freely admit that."

He beamed at this, unable to help but silently recall a similar sentiment from before:

_"You can always join me if it makes 'this' not so heavy." _Yet, unlike before, she was the one who had decided to trust him, who had decided to follow his lead in this regard — something that brought him inexplicable joy.

Entering the building, scanning the marble lobby for the way up, realizing there was a specific entrance for the restaurant, "I'm glad to hear it. Which, speaking of gratuity: if I'd realized how nice a day by the lake would be, I wouldn't have bothered asking the students about anything else."

Now, it was her turn to fondly smile and let wisps of a memory tug at her mind:

"_You thought I'd never ask, didn't you?" "Not quite, Mr. Carson. I didn't realize it was possible." _Much like she had assumed about having a teaching position at Downton, he hadn't realized the full possibilities of today.

Charles continued, unaware, "And though we might have had fun in the museums, chances are we would've been stuck with quite a few bored students. Though, I don't think I would've minded, either way."

After all, "_I do believe you're stuck with me." "Good. I want to be stuck with you."_

Her eyes twinkled at the very thought as she responded in kind, "I agree. I suppose it wouldn't have been pleasant for them to be stuck with us. But, I do know that I would've enjoyed the privilege of walking through the exhibits by your side."

For, just as he had once declared to her in the midst of a storm, she fully agreed that _"I want you. I want to court you, I want to continue working by your side, and— __and I want to eventually have the privilege, the honor, of calling you my wife."_

Feeling a bit sheepish upon thinking of how a day at the museums would've unfolded, "Now that _I _think about it, I suppose I would've rambled more than I would've liked about all the exhibits." Pausing, paying no real mind to the lift that was now carrying them upward toward the skyline and the stars, "But, I like to think that, rambling aside, today was going to be amazing, no matter where we were."

Because, at the end of the day, there was one sentiment they both could admit to:

_"Charles," She had murmured his name at_ sotto voce,_ the tenderness she inherently held glowing through the unknown that was that night. "We all carry warts we never want to see." It had been true then, it was true now, and it would remain true quite likely for all of time. "But, if you're asking me if I'm sure about whether or not I want you — to court you, to love you and to, one day, marry you..." Having glanced at the floor for a moment, still holding his hand but needing a second to collect her thoughts, gentle irises rose up again to firmly meet his gaze, "I have never been so sure of anything."_

_._

**Author's Note: **And thus, our time in Chicago comes to an end.

Thank you all for being a part of this stunning ride! Truly, I never thought anything like this would be possible to write. And the fact that I've had support throughout it all is just outright wonderful - so, really, this series is all thanks to you.

Now, if I do write anything else for the overarching series, it won't be for a while. Life's been exceedingly hectic this last year, as you could probably guess from the author's notes. Nevertheless, if I do write something, I will be sure to post another Author's Note "chapter" here, for reference.

In any case, once again, thank you for all the incredibly support. I hope you've enjoyed these stories and that you have a lovely rest of your day!


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